Daddy's Films
by BehindTheLens
Summary: In order to remember her Daddy, she needs to watch his films. Mark's and Roger's daughter watches films of her parents' past and discovers sides to them she never knew before. Mpreg mentioned and character death. UPDATE!
1. Prologue

**Daddy's Films**

By BehindTheLens

Prologue

I used to think that I was the luckiest girl in the world, but I've learned that I'm not. It's not my parents' faults really; it's all because of someone in a red sedan that I've never met and don't care to meet anytime soon. My aunt calls it a "grave case of injustice," which I really don't understand, but I trust her opinion; she _is _a lawyer. She was actually the one who tried to punish that man (except she says "prosecute,") but it didn't work. He escaped punishment, an act which caused my favorite aunt to start a protest.

That's my Aunt Maureen: if something gets you mad, hold a protest and invite more than half of Tent City to support you. No matter what the subject, Tent City believes in her. I think it's because she fought to get them decent housing.

Normally, my aunt's protests are dissolved by Benny, the mean evil person who attempted to build a studio in place of my parents' old residence. Since no one in my family is extremely close to him, I don't call him "Uncle Benny" or anything. Aunt Maureen would kill me if I did, but according to Uncle Collins, Benny used to help them out when they needed it. He also was the one who donated some furniture to my parents when they found out about me. That's nice and all, but he wasn't there when my Dad needed his AZT.

What's AZT? Well, it's a medication that stops people from dying early … people with AIDS, people like my Uncle Collins, Aunt Mimi, and Dad. My Aunt Angel died before I was born, and I know my lively uncle is getting closer to death. He's had AIDS for almost 17 years and has beat all the odds. As for Aunt Mimi … well, we never see her. She moved away before I was born … something to do with getting away from old memories and bad habits. Dad thinks that was smart of her; she hasn't had her first OI yet, so maybe she can prolong that a bit longer. She has more time than Dad, or so he says. Supposedly, Aunt Mimi was a dancer as well. She sent me a pair of ballet shoes the Christmas I turned three.

Dad had his first OI right after I was born, which is why I lived with Aunt Maureen and Aunt Joanne for a long time. But despite that, he's pretty healthy. Aunt Joanne often says that Dad will probably outlive all the original Bohemians, but then again, she said other things too that didn't occur. Whenever I think of Dad dying, I get scared. Really, he's too young to die. And if he did, who would take me on secret ice-cream trips, and sing me to sleep, and play Musetta's Waltz with me? Yes, I do know how to play Dad's favorite song. I can play it by ear, a fact which makes Dad beam with pride. He teases me and says that I am all "Davis" with my wavy blond hair, leggy height, and natural love for the guitar.

Even so, everyone else says I have a lot of Cohen in me as well. Maybe it's because of my sky blue eyes, or my nose, or the fact that I am incredibly skinny, but Uncle Collins believes I also have the "Cohen spirit": Put others first, be stubborn when you need to be, and by loyal … all characteristics of my Daddy, Mark.

Confused?

I am blessed to have two amazing fathers. Dad's full name is Roger Cohen-Davis, even though he mainly just uses "Roger Davis" for his CD recordings. Before he got committed to Daddy, he never used the name "Cohen," and rather than confuse fans, the recording label just decided to use Dad's original name. It was Dad who actually gave birth to me, despite the doctor's warnings. And miracle of all miracles, I do not have AIDS. I have been tested four times, and four times the tests came back negative.

Daddy's full name is Mark Cohen-Davis. He is … was the most awesome father ever. I think he spoiled me worse than Dad. All I had to do was cuddle up in Daddy's lap and he'd give in to most anything. I always had to work really hard to convince Dad, but if Daddy gave in, he was usually able to get Dad to see his point of view. Daddy would call me "ma jolie fille" or "my pretty girl" in French, while Dad always referred to me as "little Musetta."

Overall, my two fathers are the best people ever. But now, I am no longer the luckiest girl.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Daddy!"

Mark Cohen-Davis groaned as he moved his stiff body, trying to locate his glasses with waking Roger. His daughter was again having a nightmare, a common occurrence in the Cohen-Davis household. At 10, Jennifer wasn't scared of much: the roughness of Tent City, wild animals, or trying new things, but death was something that constantly frightened her.

"Daddy!"

"I'm right here sweetie," he replied, finding his glasses and rushing into his little girl's room. "Same nightmare?"

"Uh huh. Dad was really sick and we were in the hospital. I kept crying, but he was sleeping and ignoring me …"

Mark sat on the bed and pulled his daughter into his lap. "I'm sorry you worry about that," he said gently.

"I don't want Dad to die."

"Neither do I."

"I guess the only comfort I have is that … if Dad dies, I'll always have you Daddy," she responded loyally.

"Maybe not forever, but a long time," Mark agreed. "For as long as possible."

"Daddy."

"Yes darling."

"Why does Dad have AIDS? Was he born with it?"

He stared blankly at her. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to know. Please Daddy … I really want to know."

"Jennifer, you're not old enough," a slightly gravelly voice said from the doorway, as Roger appeared dressed in a T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. He entered the room and raised an eyebrow at the girl. "We've already discussed this."

"Dad, I'm 10."

"Yes, you are. When you're 16, I'll explain it to you."

"Rog, there's no harm …" Mark appealed.

"Mark, I don't think it's appropriate." Roger sat down next to Mark and automatically put his arm around the filmmaker's waist. "You know why."

The two exchanged a quick glance over Jennifer's head, Mark's blue eyes capturing Roger's green ones. Mark knew that the former rock star's biggest fear was losing his daughter's respect. How would she react when he admitted it was drugs that condemned her to death? After all those talks they both had with her, how would she view him? With a sigh, Mark ruffled Jennifer's hair and said, "Honey, Dad's right. When you're older, you'll understand."

"I'm smart … I'm in fourth grade … please Daddy …"

"This is Dad's life we're discussing, not mine," Mark said with a sort of finality in his voice. In a softer tone, he said, "It's more complex, ma jolie fille … much more complex."

Roger checked his watch. "Darling, you have school tomorrow. You'd better get back to bed."

"I'm not really sleepy."

"But your two old dads are, and we both have work tomorrow," Mark smiled. _What a stubborn little girl … just like Roger_. "Would you like it if I told you a quick story? Or Dad could sing to you …"

"I want a story tonight," she said decidedly.

Clearly not needed, Roger leaned in for a good-night hug and kiss from Jennifer as well as a sweet, gentle kiss from Mark. He left the room just as the scrawny blond began telling a story.

"Well, your Aunt Maureen was holding yet another protest, and everything had just gotten out of hand, so we headed to the Life Café …"

After finishing the tale of the crazy dancing and praising of "La Vie Bohème," Mark tucked his daughter in and brushed her forehead with his lips. "Good night honey, sweet dreams."

"Night … hey, Daddy?"

Mark stopped where he was in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Can you promise me something?"

"I can try … depends on what it is."

"Promise me you won't die anytime soon and leave me."

Mark smiled. "Don't worry honey … I won't leave you anytime soon. Now good night. I love you."

"Love you too Daddy," Jennifer replied.

He softly shut the door and retreated back to his bedroom. As he lay back down, he heard Roger say, "I can't tell her."

Mark sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. "Rog, she's bound to be curious. You're her father. She wants to know why you're going to leave her."

"But how do I tell her about my stupid mistake … the drugs … about April … After we gave her those talks about staying away from drugs and sex until she was older…"

Mark reached out and put his arm around his lover's chest. "Just tell her. She needs to know. She'll still love you … I'll always love you …"

Roger rolled over to face Mark. "I know," he whispered. "But I don't want Jennifer thinking I'm just this fucked up person for doing drugs. I've learned Mark … I've learned from my mistakes …"

"Will you stop worrying? That's my job," Mark demanded, placing a small kiss on Roger's forehead.

"It's not like I'm going to live to tell her anyway …"

Before he knew what was happening, Roger found himself on his back, Mark straddling his hips. His eyes were burning with passion, with hatred, and with fear. "Roger," he said sharply, taking care to keep his voice moderately low. "Roger, I can put up with your fucked-up mood swings and your constant playing of Musetta's Waltz, and the fact that you leave your underwear in the weirdest places, but I am _not_ going to listen to you talk about our daughter's future without you."

"Marky, accept reality."

"Reality? You're talking to me about reality? I live with the reality that I can never again have sex with the one I love. I live knowing that I will never be able to give my daughter everything she deserves."

"We both know my death is inevitable," Roger muttered.

"I realize that. But I don't need a reminder. This doesn't just affect you Roger … so stop wallowing in self-pity for one fucking minute." He slid off the rock star's bony hips and curled up on his side of the bed. It was silent for a few seconds until Roger grabbed Mark by the shoulder and flipped him onto his back, Roger's hands on his partner's shoulders. He sat on Mark's legs and glared at him with his emerald green eyes.

"You know Mark, you're pretty fucking lucky. You will see our daughter grow up … get married … have kids … I will never have that. I'm dying Mark. _Dying_. It's time you accept that."

"You don't have AIDS yet Rog … you've already beaten the odds …"

"I'm still HIV , aren't I?" He shook his head. "God Mark, what the fuck did I do to deserve you? I have nothing to give you. Don't you think I feel like shit knowing that I'll never be able to fuck you like mad?"

Mark cracked a smile. "Well … the sex we had when we conceived Jennifer was enough to last me a while. As for everything else … Roger, I realize that your time is limited. I … I just don't want to talk about you dying … I'm not ready for the time when you will leave me completely alone."

"You'll never be alone Marky. You'll have Jennifer."

A crystal tear slid down Mark's cheek. "She isn't you Rog," he choked out. "God, I love our little girl. But she's not you. She doesn't have your scent … your smile … and thank the Lord she doesn't have your vocabulary."

Roger kissed him gently, allowing his lips to roam around Mark's neck and collarbone. "I love you," he whispered as he nibbled at his filmmaker's ear.

"I love you too Rog. But I'm exhausted right now …"

"Then allow me to wake you up," Roger replied, smiling devilishly.


	3. Chapter 2

Thanks to everone for reviewing! Wow, I'm so excited! So, I'll answer some questions here (be prepared for a really long author's note! Sorry!)

**Anangelofthefirstdegree** -Yeah, I realize that the majority haveMarkhaving their child. I was originally going to do that, but I had this random idea and I wanted to try it out. In order for some of the "controversy" between Roger and his daughter, he has to be the one to have her.

**Spanishgoddess86** - I'm sorry! The time is post-RENT ... the reason he mentions Aprilis because she inadvertantly condemned him to death withHIV / AIDS. How is Roger supposed to explain that an old girlfriend committed suicide and gavehim the disease that will force him to die prematurely? That's what I was going for ... sorry for the confusion.

**InwardDistortion** - At first, I wasn't going to attempt an mpreg, but I fgured I'dgo for it. I had an idea where I wanted it togo and I really wanted Mark and Rogerto have Jennifer together.I have Roger explaining why in a later chapter ... you read my mind!

**Love.Heals and Flower-Child221 - **It's not possible, but I thought it would be fun! It is kind of weird, but hey, girls have to put up with so much ... let the guys have a little fun with this!

**Elizabeth Aiken and Michiro- **I'm glad you like it! Hope this next chapter is just as good ...

And thank you thank you thank you everyone for reviewing! All your comments are really helping me improve my story. Only the plot is mine ... it's all Jonathon Larson's. Thank you again and enjoy! Slightly angsty ... I didn't want to do this character death, but I had to!

Chapter 2

"Jennifer Lynn Cohen-Davis! You have exactly five minutes to get out here and eat!"

Roger poured himself a cup of coffee and waited impatiently for his daughter to come out of her bedroom. It was already 7:45 and school started at 8. It didn't help that the only decent school was a few miles away.

"Jennifer!"

"Coming Dad!" she replied. "I'm trying to find something to wear."

_Shades of Maureen_, he thought grimly as he took another sip of coffee. _Wasn't that scary … he could have a mini-Maureen on his hands!_

As he sat there, laughing at this memory, his mind drifted back to last night. His attempt to "wake Mark up" had been successful, resulting in plenty of kisses and heavy breathing. He remembered Mark lying on top of him, his lips nipping at Roger's neck, and the feeling of Mark's skin against his. And after Mark fell asleep, cuddled in Roger's arms, the rocker traced the filmmaker's body with his hand. Even after 12 years of being together, he was still turned on by Mark's sharply contoured body: the bony legs, his jutting hip bones, and his chiseled torso. He loved it. He needed nothing more.

"Okay Dad! I'm ready!" Jennifer sang out happily. She was dressed in all black, a habit she was picking up from her aunt, and (as Mark pointed out) her own father.

"Okay. You look great sweetie. Eat fast, you don't have much time."

As she devoured the Captain Crunch in front of her, her eyes searched around the room. "Did Daddy already leave for work?" she asked sadly.

Roger nodded. "He had to work the early shift."

She nodded and continued eating. Roger sighed, feeling slightly depressed. Ever since she was little, Jennifer automatically clung to Mark, much like a koala baby clung to its parent. When she was a toddler, she'd follow him around everywhere, watching in fascination as he wound the film into a reel. Whenever Mark had to stay overnight somewhere for an out-of-town filming, she'd cry until Roger sang her to sleep. And even that was hard, because she'd constantly wake up and inquire, "Where Daddy?"

Once Jennifer had finished, he propelled her into the car and drove her to school. On the way there, they sang various songs along with the radio.

"Bye Dad," she said, kissing his cheek. "I'll see you later."

"Bye little Musetta. Have a great day; I'll pick you up around three."

After making sure Jennifer entered the building, he sped off to the nearby recording studio. He was hoping to finish another CD by the end of today.

His single "Your Eyes" had immediately hit the Billboard Top Ten after a freak meeting with one of the local studios at the Life. Fans adored it and sang it constantly, which sparked his interest in cutting a full CD. That led to a complete tour along with his second CD. Unfortunately, his second tour had been cut short due to Jennifer, and as much as he loved his daughter, he loved the fame as well. He craved the adrenaline that surged through his body whenever he stood before a crowd. He needed to hear the appreciating screams of fans, needed to see the inventive signs people created, and needed to feel the lights shining full in his face. Even though Mark had protested to another tour, saying it would be hard on both him and Jennifer if Roger left, the rock star knew his cameraman would never stop him from doing what he loved.

Oh well. He had a bit of time before that came around.

"Morning Davis," the producer greeted him with a jerk of his head. Roger nodded back, noticing how weird it sounded not to be addressed as "Mr. Cohen-Davis," but because he started out as "Roger Davis," the producers decided to keep his original name. Besides, Mark was simply "Mark Cohen" when credited for his films.

"You ready to record a little?"

"You bet."

* * *

"Hi Dad! How was work?" 

"It was great sweetie. We're very close to finishing the entire album!"

"Awesome! I got an A on my spelling test. I was the only one because I could spell 'documentary.'"

"Good girl!" Roger exclaimed proudly. "Daddy will be pleased to hear that."

Jennifer beamed. "I hope so." Then, her pretty smile faded.

"What's wrong Musetta?" Roger asked, a concerned look on his face.

"Some girl made fun of me today in English class."

Roger bristled angrily. "Why?"

Jennifer mumbled something incoherent as she stared out the window.

"Jennifer?"

"Dad … is it bad that I don't have a mom like everyone else?"

Fuck. That was one talk he had been hoping to escape. Mark was better at giving "talks" like this. He always knew just what to say and how to say it. In fact, Roger had a whole list of little "talks" he wanted Mark to give her: the whole dating spectrum, being a "woman," sex, staying away from drugs, and the lack of a mother. For some reason, he knew Mark would just be better at telling her.

"N-no honey," he managed to stammer. "You, like everyone else, have two parents who love and support you. You have two parents where you mean the world to them."

"I guess."

Roger frowned slightly and said in a gentle voice, "Do you miss not having a mom? You can be honest … I won't be hurt either way."

"Of course not Dad! I have you, and Daddy, and Aunt Maureen, and Uncle Collins, and Aunt Joanne … you guys are the best ever! I don't need a mom with all of you around!"

He relaxed. "And you know that Aunt Maureen and Aunt Joanne are more than happy to help you if a problem arises that you don't feel comfortable talking to your old dads about. They'll provide you with a lot of female influence … but if you need advice, see Aunt Joanne first."

Jennifer giggled. "Okay. Thanks Dad."

"No problem." They pulled up in front of the apartment building and Roger led his daughter upstairs. "You know," he said as he unlocked the door, "I think we both deserve a reward. Would you like to go on a secret ice-cream run?"

"Oooh … really? That would be great! Oh please Dad, may we?"

"Sure. Let me drop off my guitar and check the messages. And grab your coat sweetie, it's getting chilly outside."

Jennifer raced in her room as Roger hit the Play button on the answering machine.

"_Hi Mark, Roger, and Jen! It's Maureen. How are you guys? Listen, Pookie and I wanted to see if you guys were up to getting lunch with us … we haven't seen you in ages! Well, if you don't call us back … that's okay. I'll sic Elsie on you. Kisses!"_

"_Hey everyone, it's Collins. Back in town … are you guys up for a fun night tomorrow?"_

"_Mr. Cohen, this is CNN. We're interested in buying some of your work and hiring you to be on our staff. Please call us back …_

CNN? This was a major break for Mark.

"_Mr. Roger Cohen-Davis? This is Cassandra Bartels at the New York Winchester Hospital. Your partner Mark was brought here with extensive head injuries as a result from an accident …"_

He felt his chest tighten. Oh shit. Mark. Mark was hurt … he was in pain …

"_Unfortunately, there was too much internal bleeding and we were unable to resuscitate him …"_

Roger stopped breathing. No. It wasn't … she didn't mean … Mark couldn't be dead … it was impossible! That was it: it was a mistake … they had the wrong person … someone who just happened to look like Mark. After all, it wasn't supposed to be this way … Mark was supposed to be the survivor of the Bohemian family … Mark was supposed to be the one who outlived all of them … he wasn't supposed to die first …

Jennifer halted in her doorway as she watched her father bury his head in his hands and scream.

_

* * *

_Author's Note: Poor Marky! I loved him so much ... I hated to do this! I'm sorry! But I figured that this is one of the ways Roger will get closer to his daughter. Watching films of good times usually makes people happier, right? Again, sorry to all you who are like me and totally adore Mark! 


	4. Chapter 3

_Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! You guys have given me 22 awesome reviews, and I hope I continue to make you happy! This is an interesting chapter ... slightly angsty on Roger's part. I don't know if my medical terminology is right, so I'm sorry for any inconsistencies. I am truly sorry to everyone for killing Marky! I love him too ... Mark is my idol! But, as you will see, Mark lives on. Thank you again everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter! (Grab some Kleenex!) As always, I own nothing. Jonathon Larson was a genius!_

Chapter 3

Roger sat silently on a plastic stool in the middle of the morgue. Surrounding him were rows upon rows of little drawers, each holding a corpse, a shell of what the person was. In one of them was his precious Mark. His life, his love, his other half. He felt tears sting his eyes as he recalled their last conversation after their passion-filled night.

"_I love you Marky."_

"_I love you too Rog. Don't forget that."_

"_I swear Mark, you're the reason I get up in the morning. You're the reason I lived through withdrawal. You're the reason I didn't follow April into an early grave."_

_Mark had smiled gently and then replied modestly, "You're the strong one Rog."_

"Mr. Cohen-Davis?"

Roger jerked himself out of his thoughts and cleared his throat. "Yes," he replied.

The nurse walked over to one of the doors, opened it, and slid out the tray holding Mark. "Take as much time as you need," she said, touching Roger's arm lightly.

"Thanks."

She drew back the sheet covering the filmmaker's face and left.

The guitar player moved his stool close to where Mark was, unable to look directly at his cameraman. Finally, he allowed his green eyes to look up.

Mark, though obviously injured, was still the same, gorgeous young man Roger had committed to nearly 12 years ago. His blond, downy soft hair was spiked like always. His perfectly sculpted eyebrows were slightly arched over his eyes, which were framed with those long lashes. His prominent cheekbones gave his face a slightly more chiseled look. His lips were just as full and soft as Roger remembered. And his hands … Mark's gorgeous hands with the long fingers and bony knuckles.

But he couldn't ignore the damage that had been inflicted on his love. The blond locks were soaked with blood, tinting the hair red. His serene face was covered in cuts and bruises; the lips chapped and bloody. As for his hands, they were scraped raw. His pale skin was slightly blue, but Roger was unsure if that was from lack of oxygen or the lights in the morgue.

"Marky," he whispered softly. "Oh God Marky …"

He looked around for the nurse and found her standing just outside the door, watching him sadly. The two made eye contact and she re-entered the room.

"Are you done?"

"No. But could you possibly tell me what the hell happened?"

She hesitated briefly. "Well Mr. Cohen-Davis …"

"Roger."

"…Roger, a witness said that a red sedan hit Mark when he had stopped for a traffic signal. There was a red light and when he stopped, the car hit the back tire of his bike. Mark was thrown forward on impact and hit his head on the concrete. There was too much bleeding to save him."

Roger swallowed hard. This was not easy. "Did … did he die on impact?"

The nurse's eyes filled. "Unfortunately, I am unable to give you that information … Dr. Sanders will be able to provide you with that …"

"Please," Roger said. "Just tell me…"

"I can't …"

"Will you fucking tell me?" Roger demanded, losing his patience. "Just tell me if Mark felt any pain!" He felt tears sliding down his cheeks, curving along his jaw. The same spot Mark had kissed him not even 24 hours ago. Mortified that he would be crying in front of a complete stranger, he hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand.

She took a deep breath. "I could get fired for this," she sighed. "But I know what love is like." She paused, then continued, "Mark was still conscious when the paramedics brought him here. As you can see, he sustained quite a few cuts and scrapes, as well as three broken ribs. At first, we all thought he was fine. _He _thought he was fine. We wanted to double-check, so we sent him up for a CT scan. While he was up there he just … became unconscious. It was all in a matter of minutes …"

"Why?"

"We can only guess that he had major head trauma, which, as a result, caused him to have bleeding in his brain. It wouldn't have hurt …"

Roger turned away from her and focused back on Mark. A tear fell from his lashes onto Mark's forehead and he gently brushed it off.

"He said that … that he was anxious to get home to you and your daughter …"

"Thanks," he cut her off.

With a sigh, she exited the morgue.

"Oh Marky … I'm so sorry," Roger murmured, allowing his fingers to trace the filmmaker's face. "I'm sorry … it wasn't supposed to end like this … I was supposed to die first and you were going to bring Jennifer to my funeral … damn it Mark, the roles should be switched."

He let his tears flow freely now that he was alone. "Fuck, Mark. I'm sorry for not being there to hold you … the way you promised to hold me should something happen." He took Mark's ice-cold hand in his own and began rubbing in small circles with his thumb. "Your hands are so cold … they always were … it reminds me of the time we first held hands as a couple. I was standing on the fire escape and you came up behind me and our hands just connected. It was perfect … except your hands were fucking freezing …" He trailed off. He felt like a moron, talking to Mark, who couldn't even hear him, but it somehow comforted the brooding rocker.

"I wishit wasn't like this Mark. I wish I could hold you one last time … feel your kiss … hear your voice … watch you fiddle with that damn camera … I wish I could tell you all the things I never did, but should've. And good God, what the hell am I going to tell Jennifer? How do I tell her that you're never going to come back to us? You're better at telling people these things. I don't know how to explain it. You were always closer to her anyways …"

Feeling emotionally drained, Roger finally detached his hand from Mark's, placed a kiss on the bruised forehead, and stood up to leave. But it felt so wrong to just leave Mark alone in, what Roger thought, was a giant refrigerator. Even though he had spend a great deal of life "alone" and abandoned, Mark was still afraid of it. He detested waking up without Roger by his side. Being alone in the loft tortured his mind into remembering darker days, the days when Roger would be out getting another fix. But one of Mark's greatest fears was dying alone, a result from the time Roger had headed to Santa Fe. The tax of his roommate leaving, coupled with the emotional strain of dealing with Angel's death, had made him physically ill. For days, Mark had spent his time in a feverish delirium, throwing up everything, until he finally passed out on the bathroom floor. When Roger returned home three days later, he had found Mark dehydrated, burning from fever, and extremely anemic.

Mark had spent a week in the hospital, getting his physical needs attended, but wanting for his emotional needs to be met. He swore to Roger that, when he was unconscious, Angel had appeared to him. He had begged her to take him, to get him away from the loneliness and misery, but the beautiful drag queen had simply smiled and said, "Baby, it's not your time. Someone's coming for you … someone who loves you very much. I'm not coming for you yet honey." And when Mark's sky blue eyes finally opened, they had rested on Roger's worried face. That was the night that Roger first told Mark he loved him.

Was Mark finally with Angel?

Roger regretted so much at that point. He regretted not being there when Mark took his last breath. He regretted all the times he hadn't stood by Mark and believed in him. He regretted not loving Mark sooner.

And he regretted the fact that he had to tell their daughter that her Daddy had died.

_A/N: Please review! And I know that in the movie and play, Mark isn't sick likeI described, but anything is possible!_


	5. Chapter 4

Yay! We hit 30 reviews! Thank you so much everyone for your comments. I truly appreciate them. This chapter is a little sappy ... but everyone's favorite filmmaker has just been killed ... we need to cry! Everything except Jennifer Lynn is the creation of Jonathon Larson.

Chapter 4

"Hey you guys, thanks for coming."

Maureen Johnson-Jefferson reached out and pulled the musician closer to her. Next to her, Joanne put a comforting hand on his back. The three stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other, until Joanne finally broke the silence.

"Roger, we wouldn't have missed this for anything," she assured him.

"I cancelled my protest," Maureen added.

Joanne glared at her partner before saying, "If you need anything, and I mean _anything_, call us."

"Thanks." He pulled away from Maureen and pecked Joanne on the cheek. "Collins should be here soon … I have no way of contacting Mimi … I know Benny won't show up …"

"How Jennifer doing?" Maureen interrupted.

He shook his head with a sigh. "Bad," he responded. "She's been so worried about me dying that I think she doesn't know what to think. Mark and I kept telling her that one day, I'd get really sick and not come home forever, but we never thought … We never thought it would be Mark leaving us first. She knows I'm going to die sooner than I should, but now that Mark's gone … I think she feels alone."

"Poor girl," Joanne murmured.

"Hey guys," a sad, slightly hoarse voice said as the anarchist entered the loft.

"Collins, it's good to see you," Joanne said.

"Yeah, we never see you anymore," Maureen chimed in.

"I know …" He turned towards Roger and roughly pulled him into his arms. "Hey buddy … how're you holding up?"

"Hey Thomas … I'm lasting. Gotta be strong for Jennifer …"

"The poor girl isn't taking it well at all," Maureen said emphatically.

"If your father just died, would you?" Joanne snapped.

"Well, excuse me …"

"Dad?"

Roger looked up to see his daughter, tear stains on her cheeks, clutching a ragged stuffed animal. It was one that they had bought the day they found out they were having a girl. He scooped her up in his arms and said, "How you doing pumpkin?"

"Okay … I guess."

"Okay. Listen, I need to make arrangements with everyone, okay? Daddy's funeral is in two days … if you want to stay in here you can."

She shook her head, then turned to the rest of her relatives. "Hey Uncle Collins," she whispered. "Hi Aunt Maureen and Aunt Joanne."

"Hi sweetheart," Collins replied, coming over and patting the little girl's hair. "You feel okay?"

"I guess so. I just … I miss Daddy." Her eyes began to fill and she buried her head against Roger's shoulder.

"We all do honey, we all do," Joanne said comfortingly, wiping tears from her own eyes.

"It … it just seems so long ago that Daddy was telling me a story … and it was only last night," she cried, her voice muffled. She broke into heart-breaking sobs and Roger rubbed her back.

"It's okay Musetta … shh …" he soothed. "Come on, I'm going to put you back to bed while we all talk. I think you need a little sleep." Shifting the girl's weight, he managed to grab his guitar before heading back into her bedroom.

"Poor girl," Collins said. "She's taking it rough."

"Yeah," Joanne agreed. "She seemed … she seemed so young, not like before when she was almost an adult to us."

Strains of Musetta's Waltz began playing in the background.

"You know, Jennifer can play that almost as well as Roger," Maureen commented. "I heard her one night. She's really good."

"She is. But physically, she's Mark all over. Except for her height … that's definitely Roger. But everything else … her big blue eyes especially …" Collins broke off and blew his nose in a tissue. "I can't believe Mark's gone."

"Neither can I," Joanne sniffed.

Just then, Roger came back into the room, looking exhausted. He placed the guitar back on its stand and then proceeded to sit down on the couch. "You know what my little girl just said to me?" he asked softly.

The other three immediately stepped closer to him.

He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "I was singing her to sleep," he murmured. "And just before her eyes closed, she looked at me and said in a serious voice 'Take your AZT.' Just like Mark used to tell me every day … I didn't need a beeper because I had Mark …" He whimpered quietly and Maureen automatically went over and hugged him.

"And then … just the look she gave me … it was pure Mark," he sobbed against the diva's shoulder. "I couldn't … I couldn't look anymore … I couldn't without remembering that I broke the fucking pact we made to each other …"

"Which was?" Joanne prodded.

Roger rubbed at his eyes ferociously. "We promised each other … but mainly, it was Mark promising me … that should anything happen and one of us was dying … we'd be there. And I wasn't! I let Mark die alone! I can never have him again … I'll never be able to stroke his hair anymore and kiss him and …" He took a deep breath again, then pulled away from Maureen to face the other two. "He's been gone less than 10 hours and I already forgot what his cologne smells like … I forgot the name of his favorite movie …"

Joanne made a little choking noise. "Oh Rog," she said simply, pulling a tissue from her pocket and drying the tears coursing down his cheeks. "Oh honey …"

Collins patted his trembling back. "Don't worry man. You're not forgetting Mark. God, none of us will. You're just upset … once you calm down, I'm sure you'll remember all the little things …"

"…and hopefully all the good times," Maureen suggested. "Remember the fun. Like the time I caught you guys screwing in the bathroom during Pookie's and my wedding reception."

Roger let out a weak chuckle. "I forgot about that."

"Or the time you tried to make a romantic dinner because it was your one year anniversary and you set the hot plate on fire," Collins added. "And then you ordered out Chinese and told Mark you made it yourself."

"That was terrible," the guitar player whispered, a small smile playing on his lips.

"And who can forget when Mark almost fainted at your commitment ceremony?" Joanne offered, petting the wavy blond locks.

"Yeah, you guys are right," Roger admitted, flicking away more tears. "Thanks everyone. I don't know why I just lost it … anyway, you guys didn't come here to watch me act like a little kid … we need to discuss arrangements."

"Like flowers?" the diva asked. "I remember Mark just loved it when the daisies outside my bedroom window were blooming … ooh, what if we do something all fancy …"

"Mo," Roger interrupted. "That's nice and everything … but that's not what Mark was like. You know as well as I do that he hated fancy shit …"

"I think it should be something relatively simple," Joanne agreed. "Mark liked plain and simple."

"And drunk," Collins joked weakly. "Mark could never hold his liquor … but damn if it wasn't hilarious when he got drunk and sang … Not saying we should drink at his funeral," he added hastily, "but I think we need something … fun-loving. Mark loved that."

Roger nodded. "As for his stuff …"

"Now Roger," Joanne scolded. "We are not taking any of Mark's things. He wouldn't want us to have them. Keep them for you and Jennifer."

"But I'm sure he did," Roger argued back. "Like _Today 4 U_ … it's Angel's video and Angel was your girl, Collins … and shit Maureen … he has three fucking reels of just you …"

They all fell silent. Finally, Collins muttered, "Don't rush it Rog. Go through it later. I don't think any of us can handle it now anyways …"

Joanne and Maureen nodded, each drying their eyes.

Roger covered his own eyes for a minute before saying, "I can't believe this."

"What?" Maureen asked.

"That he's … that he's gone. Forever."

"It'll be hard for a while hon … just take it slow," Joanne advised.

"Thanks Jo."

"We're here for you," Maureen added.

"I know."

"We're a family Rog. We're going to be here as long as you need us … to support you and Jennifer."

"Thanks Collins. What would I do without you guys?"

And the now broken Bohemian family gathered together for one big hug, each providing the comfort that their filmmaker used to bring.

**A/N: How was it? Please review!**


	6. Chapter 5

Thanks for all the great reviews guys! Since you had to wait a little longer for this chapter, I made sure it was extra long! Sorry! But I hope you all enjoy it. I sent out a few personal messages instead of responding to all of the comments here, so I hope you liked it! Your responses and comments are invaluable. Thank you again!

Chapter 5

Simple. Plain and simple, just like Mark would've liked.

Roger absently rearranged the flowers on the bottom half of Mark's coffin, trying not to look at the face of his filmmaker. If he did, he knew he'd start crying again, and he had to stay strong for Jennifer. He couldn't afford to fall to pieces with her depending solely on him. In any other situation, Mark would've been the pillar, the one they could all lean on, the dependable one. When it came to emotions, Roger was a wreck. Even though he never cried in front of his daughter (crying was, in his eyes, a sign of weakness,) he had been unafraid to cry when Mark was there with him. He'd cry at funerals, at happy endings, during some Kodak commercials, and some of Mark's films, and Mark would simple sit next to him, drying away Roger's salty tears with his thumbs, never wavering. Mark had always been there. Now, it was the musician's turn to be stoic.

He chanced a glance at Mark. On his face were his favorite glasses, which Roger had gotten repaired since they'd been smashed beyond recognition at the scene. The bruises and cuts were expertly covered with Maureen's makeup, and she had even added a touch of blush to Mark's normally pale cheeks, giving them a kind of glow. He reached out and ran his finger down Mark's face, taking time to trace his lips, his nose, and those long lashes.

"Dad?"

Roger turned around. "Hey darling," he greeted his daughter. "What are you holding?"

Jennifer walked closer and showed her father the small, black camera she had cradled in her arms. "I found Daddy's camera in your room."

"Yeah." After the night at the hospital, the police had given Roger all of Mark's personal items: his wallet, keys, that ridiculous striped scarf he always wore, a gold necklace Mark had received at his Bar Mitzvah, and his camera. Roger had taken the film for Mark's most precious belonging, wound it up, and put it with the rest of Mark's reels.

"I thought Daddy would like it … he can film us from heaven."

Roger smiled sadly. Some days, he forgot that his daughter, though 10 years old, was still a child.

"Besides, I once heard you tell Daddy that you wanted to be buried with your guitar … and I know Daddy loved his camera …"

"That's a great idea honey," Roger agreed.

Carefully, the little girl nestled the camera between Mark's arm and the side of the coffin, then leaned over and kissed her father's pale lips.

"Hey guys," a soft whisper came from the back of the church. Father and daughter turned around to find Joanne in a business suit and heels. Behind her, Maureen was dressed rather conservatively in black stretch pants, a black top, and a long, navy blue trench coat.

"Hi Aunt Joanne," Jennifer said, waving timidly at the lawyer.

Joanne came over and enveloped the little girl in a hug. "Doll, you're getting so big," she said. "Isn't she, Aunt Maureen?"

"You sure are baby," Maureen said, ruffling Jennifer's hair. Automatically, Jennifer let go of Joanne's waist and put her arms around the protestor's neck. "Hi precious. How are you?"

"Okay. I put Daddy's camera in with him. I thought he would like it. What do you think?"

Maureen choked a little before replying, "I'm sure Daddy loves that you did that."

Joanne went towards Roger, who was still standing by Mark's coffin, both hands clutching the side of the glossy wooden box. "Roger," she murmured gently.

"Hi Jo."

She pried one of his hands from the coffin and held it in her own. "You okay? How you holding up?"

"I'm okay," he mumbled, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he continued to gaze at Mark.

"Okay," the lawyer said. "What we're going to do is have everyone say something about Mark, just like we did with Angel. Just a special memory. Did you write a eulogy like I told you?"

"I have something in mind."

"Good." She put her arm around Roger's shoulders and said, "You know Rog, it's okay to cry. It's okay to mourn. It'd be good for you."

"That's not me Jo."

* * *

For the next hour, the Bohemians all sat together near the front of the church as Mark's other friends and assorted family members trickled in and sat in back. As soon as the rustling and murmuring had stopped, Maureen stood up. She, as always, wanted to be able to speak first.

"I remember the first time I met Mark," she began dreamily. "We were both eating lunch, and would you believe it, but I was actually alone this time. We were sitting two seats away from each other. He caught my eyes and smiled, so I went over and started talking to him. I remember he was so adorable when he got mayonnaise on his chin … I licked it off of him because we wouldn't want to waste trees … they used this really good recipe back then … anyway, that's my favorite memory of Mark. Meeting him and getting a chance to see that gorgeous smile. It just … it captivated me."

Joanne stood up next. She wiped her eyes quickly, then said softly, "When I first met Mark, I didn't like him. It wasn't his fault … I just never liked Jewish guys …"

"That's because one cheated on her before she became my partner," Maureen said in a stage whisper.

"Honeybear! Anyway, once I got to know Mark, he wasn't too bad. In fact, he was an amazing source of strength. When all the rest of us were standing helplessly at the wayside, Mark was the one who guided us. We all probably cried on his shoulder at least once. And he just stood there, comforting us, giving us strength. No one else in our miniature family could do that. Only Mark. His presence was enough to soothe anyone. Maybe that's why he was so great with his daughter. She could've been screaming bloody murder as a baby, and all Mark had to do was pick her up and she was fine."

A quiet sob was heard from the back of the church. Roger craned his neck to see Mark's mother, looking pale and drawn, dry her eyes.

Collins stood up then at his regal height of 6'3". His eyes were slightly red, and when he spoke, it was evident that the AIDS was starting to take its toll. His powerful voice that had once lectured so many students was now hoarse and weak.

"Mark was the most patient person in the world," he started. "He was also the most giving. He couldn't stand it when people gave him things … and when you did, you could expect him to thank you every day for a week for it. But that was the way Mark was: selfless. He'd rather freeze his scrawny butt off than take a blanket from one of us when we were sick. He gave so much of his time and his life for us. We were all extremely blessed to know him."

Once Collins had finished, Roger leaned over to his daughter. "Jen, you wanna say something?" he asked softly.

She stood up shakily and turned to face the little crowd. Roger stared at his daughter as she carefully readied herself for giving her speech. Her piercing blue eyes and nose were both perfect replicas of Mark's.

"You know that saying 'Daddy's Girl'?" she asked. "Well, that was me. Don't get me wrong … I love my Dad … but Daddy was special. He taught me … God, he taught me so much. And not just about filming." She paused. "Aunt Joanne was right … whenever Daddy was with me, I was never afraid. I never felt alone. I was always calmer. He did have … a presence to him. And he always knew how to say things. He gave me the sex talk … and how I should never pick up some of Dad's vocabulary." The audience smiled weakly through their tears as she continued, "I learned how to love because of Daddy. I learned how to be a strong person. I learned how to give of myself and never expect anything in return. That was Daddy. He never wanted a reward for what he did … as long as it made a difference. I hope … I want to take these lessons with me so that, one day, Daddy will be able to look at me and say I'm making him proud."

Maureen blew her nose loudly and dissolved into sobs. Joanne hugged her and the two wept together.

Finally, it was Roger's turn. He cleared his throat, stood up, and said, "Thanks you guys for coming. I think … no, I _know _Mark would've appreciated it.

"Joanne told me that I should write a eulogy for Mark to give today, just talking about what he was like and how he was such a great person. But as I sat in my room last night, I realized that you can't just write a speech about Mark. You had to know him to talk about him. And I didn't want to give some stupid speech on how Mark was the love of my life because he was so much more than that. He was … he was my other half. My best friend. My mentor. My source of strength and inspiration. You can't just … say it. You have to know what that all means.

"I am HIV positive. Most of you know that. Soon, it's going to become AIDS and I will probably die before I reach the age of 45. But without Mark … God, I would've died before I hit 30. He was the one who kept getting me through the rough times … constantly checking on me if I was sick … telling me to take my AZT … all the little things I took for granted. In essence, he was like my mother: taking care of me behind the scenes and then slipping back, unnoticed, letting me shine. He let me have the spotlight when, really, he deserved it all.

"Mark is the reason I am fortunate enough to have such a beautiful daughter. Both of them … they're my life. Mark is the one who made me realize that life is much more than money and fame. It's about love and devotion. As teens and young adults, we never had much money. But as adults, we were rich in love. That's all we needed. We didn't need fancy stuff to make us happy. We had each other.

"I know all of this sounds really cliché, especially what I'm about to say next, but Mark made me realize that true love really does exist."

Trembling, he sat down as Jennifer climbed into his lap and buried her face on his shoulder, sobbing as though her heart had broken. He rubbed her back, feeling his own heart break as his daughter cried in pain for the loss of her father. He heard Collins sniff and Maureen continue to bawl noisily. He heard Mark's relatives murmur among each other.

"Roger," Joanne whispered, putting her hand on his shoulder. "C'mon guys, it's time to bury him."

* * *

One rose. That's all he placed on the casket.

Mark was worth more than one rose. He was worth more than a bouquet. But all he could give him today was one solitary rose.

Before, one rose had been enough. For their anniversary, Roger had always presented Mark with a single rose in a bottle of Stoli, an age-old tradition they had since they first started dating. The one rose, Roger had explained, was to show that he only had one love. His filmmaker.

But right now, as he stood over the hole in the earth and let his fingers leave the stem of the red flower, he realized that one rose was nowhere near enough.

He stared down at the casket, watching the sunrays glint off the shiny mahogany. He was barely aware of everyone else leaving and didn't even realize that Collins had gently nudged Jennifer away from Roger's side, allowing him to be alone with Mark.

Alone. That's what he was now.

**A/N: How was it? Please review! **


	7. Chapter 6

_Hey everyone! Sorry I haven't updated in a really long time! Exams have been attacking me, so I've been trying to study for those! Well, here's my next chapter. I hope you enjoy it! As always, I own nothing, and I LOVE reviews! Thanks for being so patient with me!_

Chapter 6

A week later found both Jennifer and Roger still moping around the house, each one waiting for the other to start looking at Mark's things. Neither had the courage to look at his numerous reels of film, go through his bureau drawers, or even disturb anything that he had left. To Roger, it was just a reminder that Mark was gone – forever – from his life. But he knew that, for Jennifer, it was much worse. She had always been attached to Mark, and now every little thing in the loft brought back memories of him. She would see his razor and remember all the times he put shaving cream on her nose. Or when she found Mark's favorite light blue shirt, she burst into hysterical tears.

But the worst thing of all was Jennifer's insomnia, or as Roger called it, "Filmmaker Syndrome." He knew that Mark was always plagued by insomnia, which made him turn to his films more and more. Roger remembered all the times Mark had pulled an all-nighter, editing and fixing his films until dawn finally broke. Now, his daughter was the exact same way. She was a night owl. She was never tired.

Mark had always known what to do: tell her a story and lie there until she fell asleep. But Roger was never patient enough to just wait until she was asleep. Usually, he would play songs for her: lullabies, Musetta's Waltz, his own single _Your Eyes_, but her favorite thing was hearing a story.

"Hey Dad?" she asked quietly one night, nearly three weeks after Mark had abandoned them.

"Yeah doll?" he asked, still attempting to tune his guitar for the usual nightly concert.

"Dad, tell me a story."

Roger looked at her blankly. "Tell you a story?" he repeated slowly, setting his guitar on the floor.

She nodded. "Please?"

"Oh honey, I'm not good at stories like Daddy was …"

"Well, it doesn't have to be pretend. It can be real."

Roger smiled wryly. "Is there a story you had in mind?" he asked, seeing through her subtle hint.

"I've been thinking about Daddy a lot."

"Me too." He had been. Just last night, he had dreamt of Mark … of the way they were. He had recalled all the strangest memories they had ever had together: the time Mark had taught him how to tango, the day Joanne had walked into the loft to find him and Mark on the counter together, the moment he knew that Mark was the one for him.

"Dad?" Jennifer asked, pulling him from his thoughts. "Dad, I want to hear how you and Daddy first met. Daddy always told me he was going to tell it, but … but he never did."

"The time we first met …" Roger said, closing his eyes.

* * *

"Um … excuse me?"

Roger looked up from lighting his cigarette. Standing in front of him was a guy who couldn't have hit the age of 19 yet. He was thin and pale, with messy gelled blond hair and black, square-rimmed glasses. He was also carrying a backpack and looked extremely frightened.

"Can I help you?" Roger asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I hope so," the boy responded.

Roger shook his head and blew a cloud of smoke at the newcomer, who winced and fanned it away from his face irritably.

"Listen, do you know about this apartment for rent?" the pale blond asked, shoving his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "It says 'top floor,' but it doesn't give an apartment number or anything …"

"That's because it's the loft," the rock star responded, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Oh." The bespectacled guy looked around anxiously, as if hoping someone else, someone more helpful, would pop out of the street at that moment. Finally, he said, "Um … who do I talk to about the apartment?"

"You're looking at him. Or … er, one of them."

"I … I need a place to stay."

"No kidding. I figured." Roger ground out his cigarette and stuck out his hand. "Roger Davis."

"Mark Cohen."

"You look pretty damn young to be here. What are you … 18? 19?"

"I … I'm actually 20."

"Uh huh. You don't look it. But maybe that'll help once you're old." He grabbed Mark by the shoulder and steered him into the building. "But hey, it'll be nice for me not to be the baby of the group anymore. C'mon, let's go upstairs. You need to meet the others."

As they ascended up the rickety staircase, Mark commented, "You said that you were tired of being the baby. How old are you?"

Roger laughed. "I'm 22. Collins is the oldest … he's 25. Then Benny and Maureen are both 24 … actually Benny's a little older. Acts older too. Maureen's a little whiny brat at times, but she's not too bad I guess." They finally reached the loft entry. "Go on. Go in. Welcome."

Immediately upon entering, three people crowded around the filmmaker. The girl had wavy brown hair and big brown eyes, which she examined him with. She gave him a happy smile before throwing her arms around his neck, surprising the blond.

"Hi! I'm Maureen Johnson and welcome to the loft! You want to move in, don't you? You're so adorable … I wouldn't mind waking up to you every morning!" She said all of this in a rather breathless tone. "You've met Roger I see? What do you think of him? He's a nice guy, but if you move in, you'd better like music because he plays and I sing too … I'm a big protestor as well …"

"Er … um …" Mark stammered.

"Give him room to breathe Mo," a tall, African-American man chided. He extended his hand to Mark. "Thomas Collins … but don't call me Thomas. Call me Collins … it sounds cooler."

"Like the drink?"

"I like this kid," Collins commented with a sly wink. "And what's your name?"

"Mark. Mark Cohen."

"Mark. Well, this is home to us." Collins waved his hand absently behind him. "It's not much to be honest … only a little heat and all … but it suits us. Do you like art?"

"Huh?" Mark asked, extremely confused.

"Art … you know … doing art?"

"Like … like Renoir?"

"Er … no. Like Maureen just said, she's a singer." Maureen beamed excitedly. "And Roger is a musician," Collins continued.

"You are?" Mark asked.

Roger nodded. "Yeah … guitarist."

"I …" Mark flushed. "I … I'm attempting to create my own documentary."

"Hey, that's talent!" Collins told him. "Better than Benny … pompous ass that he is, wanting to create a damn cyber studio. And me … I'm an anarchist. And I teach … that's very interesting."

"I am not a pompous ass!" the other man protested.

Everyone chuckled. Finally, Roger said, "Well guys?"

"Listen," Mark rushed on, "I can get a job if I need to. I won't be any trouble really … I don't sleepwalk, or have weird habits or anything. I don't even have a pet. I just like to keep to myself …"

"Slow down there," Collins laughed. "Don't stress it. Welcome to the family."

* * *

Jennifer giggled sleepily. "Daddy sounded like a complete dork."

"He was," Roger admitted. He felt tears sting the back of his eyes and he shook his head quickly to drive them away. "You okay Jen?"

"Yeah. But I wanna hear more stories."

"Tomorrow," Roger promised. "I have so many about Daddy … but some of them, we'll need to watch on the projector. Films were a big part of Daddy's life … and I think they'll explain some things better than I can."

"Okay." Her green eyes started to slowly close. "Night Dad. Love you."

"Night Jen," he whispered.

_How was it? Please please please please please please please review!_


	8. Chapter 7

Thanks so much you guys for reviewing! I am forever thankful to you! Once again, I don't own anything. Cookie to someone who can guess what random love of mine is inserted in this chapter! As always, I appreciate your comments!

Chapter 7

True to this word, Roger set up the projector the next morning.

"Dad, what's this?" Jennifer asked as she held up a reel of film.

"One of many hours of entertainment," Roger replied, hitting the projector angrily. "Which we'll hopefully be able to watch if this damn thing starts working …"

Jennifer read the label on the reel she was holding. "Proposals. Hey Dad, was this _your _proposal?"

"Let me see." Roger took the reel of film and smiled as he read the date: February 21. "Yes, that's the day I proposed to Daddy … and he did have his damn camera with him …"

"May we watch it?"

"I don't see why not." He carefully fed the film into the projector, which sputtered a little before coming to life. Aiming the lens at a blank wall, father and daughter curled up on the floor to watch.

"Hey Dad?" Jennifer whispered before the movie began.

"Yes?"

"I'm not too old to sit in your lap … right?"

Roger smiled sadly. "You'll never be too old."

* * *

"February 21, 6:10, Eastern Standard Time. Roger, will you fucking sit down? You're giving me motion sickenss."

Roger turned to scowl at the camera. He was clutching his guitar and pacing, back and forth, in front of their window. "Deal with it," he snapped before flopping down on the couch and strumming his guitar.

"Play Musetta's Waltz one more time and I will personally toss that guitar off the fire escape," Mark growled back.

With a huff, Roger set his guitar on the couch, got up, and resumed his pacing.

"Rog, please," Mark begged from behind the lens. "Please just stop. Come sit by me. I'm lonely."

Roger halted, then walked over and sat down next to Mark, his hands twitching nervously.

"Anything wrong Rog? Talk to the camera."

"No … why would you ask that Cohen?"

"Because you seem really nervous," the voice off-screen supplied.

"Nervous? Me? What gave you that impression?" Roger mumbled.

"You keep repeating yourself. And you're pacing. You never pace. You swear instead."

"I'm bored," Roger whined pitifully, before grabbing Mark's arm. "Come on. Let's go do something." He yanked Mark off the couch; the camera caught a nice shot of Mark's shoes.

"What? Roger, are you fucking nuts?"

"Yes. I'm a pistachio." He tugged on Mark's arm and hauled him down the stairs and onto the street.

"Roger, you're insane."

"Yes. I am. HIV will do that to you." He continued to steer Mark down the street, him power-walking down Avenue A and Mark struggling to keep up.

Within minutes, they were standing outside the self-same building Maureen had protested at nearly 3 years earlier, the year Angel had entered their lives and touched them all. Roger put his hand on the door, then stopped.

"Mark, we need to talk. Set down the fucking camera."

The camera dropped abruptly, getting a close-up of the graffiti on the door.

"I love you Mark."

"Roger!" Mark exploded violently. "You dragged me out here just to say that? It's 45 outside and you're going to catch a cold or something. Let's go home and talk, okay?"

"No," Roger said firmly. "Let's go inside here. Come on …" He pulled the door open and gently shoved Mark inside.

"What the …" Mark began, before letting out a little gasp of surprise.

The inside of the building had been transformed from a dingy storage facility into a romantic restaurant. A single table was set up in the middle of the wide basement floor, illuminated by two candles burning cheerily in the center. Then, a figure slowly advanced towards them in the dim light and Mark flinched. What the hell was Roger doing? And who was this coming towards them?

The figure came closer. "Hi guys."

"Joanne!" Mark cried.

She beamed at him. "Hi," she grinned. Then, she turned to Roger and adopted a formal sounding voice. "Mr. Davis, would you like dinner first?"

Roger winked at Joanne. "You bet," he replied, allowing Joanne to lead them to the table.

Mark lifted the camera to his eye and began filming the scene before him. Suddenly, he said, "Roger … what is this for? Our anniversary isn't until … well, it was December 26!"

"Who says I need it to be a special occasion to take my favorite person out?" Roger demanded.

The two sat down and Joanne appeared next to them. "Our specials tonight," she began, "are stuffed bell peppers as the appetizer, poulet garni for your main course, and fruit for dessert."

"Sounds good," Mark commented. "Hey, who's the amazing chef? Collins?"

Suddenly, a loud clang erupted through the almost silent building and a shriek of , "Fuck! Pookie, the peppers are burning!" was heard. Roger snorted loudly.

"Excuse me," Joanne muttered, disappearing from the side of the table and hurrying to the other side of the floor.

Roger smiled and reached for Mark's hand, stroking the long, perfectly bony fingers. He rubbed the top of his hand with his thumb, causing Mark to flush a little. "Set the camera down," Roger pleaded.

Obligingly, Mark propped the camera next to the flower vase.

"Did I ever tell you that I love your hands?" Roger asked dreamily, still rubbing the filmmaker's ice-cold hands.

"Rog, are you high?" Mark responded sharply, looking into the emerald green eyes. "You haven't been using again, have you?"

"What?" Roger whined. "I'm sorry if I can't compliment my own boyfriend. It's not my fault you have nice hands." He traced over each knuckle gently with his fingers, causing Mark to feel the calluses on the guitar player's hands … calluses that resulted in the constant playing of his favorite instrument.

"You have nice hands too," Mark said.

"Uh-uh. My hands are all rough … there's nothing beautiful about that."

"Artistic design," the filmmaker responded. He sighed, then pulled his hand away. "Roger, there's a reason you're doing this. What's going on?"

Roger grabbed for his hand again and resumed his rubbing, tracing over every bone in Mark's fingers. "I love you Marky."

"I love you too Rog … but really, why are you acting like this?"

"We need to talk."

"You've said that. Just tell me." He mentally braced himself, preparing for the same words Maureen and Nanette had spoken to him years ago: _It's over_.

"Mark, would you ever get committed?"

"I dunno … I guess that depends on the person." Honestly, Mark always thought about being committed to Roger. He thought about it every time the two sat together, holding hands and eating breakfast together. He thought about it every time they lay in bed, their bodies fitting together like spoons. He thought about it every time they kissed or exchanged one little glance.

"Would you have committed to Maureen?"

Mark laughed a little. "Did I ever think about it? I'd be lying if I said it never crossed my mind."

"Or Nanette?"

"Roger, I've thought about it but …" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But … I never loved them like I love you. Never. They never were the same. They never were you."

Having gathered the assurance, Roger got up, walked over to Mark's spot, knelt down in front of him, and said, "Mark … you've been my best friend for ages. You've been there for me when I've needed you most. I've taken so much from you. You've done too much for me. And now I'm asking you for just one more favor. Mark Cohen, would you commit to me?"

A single tearran down Mark's cheek as Roger slid one of his rings over Mark's finger. "Please," Roger whispered. "Please grant me one last favor."

Mark blushed. "Of course," he responded, drawing Roger into a hug. "I'd love to. Damn it Roger … I fucking love you."

* * *

The film blacked out just then. "What happened?" Jennifer asked.

"I think Daddy ran out of film," Roger laughed. "Well, it was a good night. You got the main portion of it. After we ate, and Aunt Maureen stopped serenading us with her song 'Leap of Faith,' we danced for a while. I learned how to tango that night. And Aunt Maureen drank a whole bottle of champagne to celebrate … never do what your Aunt Maureen does …"

"Tell me more."

Roger looked at his watch. "I think we have time for one more film before I need to run to work. I'm sorry doll, but Greg called me in."

"That's okay Dad." She fished through the piles of reels. Finally, she said, "I know what I want to watch."

"Which one?"

She held up the reel she was holding. "Today 4 U: Proof Positive."

_A/N: Please read and review! I hope you liked it!_


	9. Chapter 8

Thanks so much you guys! I have received 60 reviews! Yay! does a cartwheel I'm so thankful to you guys for reading and reviewing my story. As always, I own nothing, and please read and review! I appreciate comments and constructive criticism!

Chapter 8

"This is the documentary that made Daddy famous, right?"

Roger looked sadly at the ancient reel, noting the neat, precise handwriting on the label. "Yes, it is," he finally answered as he put the reel on the projector. "That was his first, full movie. I remember when he showed it to us … Christmas of 1990. He was so proud of what he had accomplished. You've seen it before, right?"

"Maybe. I don't remember. Probably."

"It's great." He fingered the reel again, remembering Mark's careful editing and hours of patience as he selected the perfect shots. Pictures of Mark dancing and singing on one of the tables at the Life. Mimi. Collins and Angel. Maureen and Joanne.

He started the projector running and sat back on the floor with Jennifer in his lap. The words "Today 4 U: Proof Positive" appeared, then vanished, only to be replaced with "A Mark Cohen film." Slowly, pictures began to flash onto the blank wall and Roger began narrating.

"That was our first apartment on Avenue A … there's Uncle Collins and me on the stairs outside … "

"You were cute Dad," Jennifer commented seriously.

"You think? Well, I'm sure some people would agree with you …" He absently ran his hand through his wavy blond hair.

Just then, a pretty Hispanic woman appeared on camera, hugging Roger around the neck. She had a big smile on her face and a funky black hat over her dark curls. She blew a kiss at the camera before turning her attention back to the rocker.

"Dad, who's that?"

"That's Aunt Mimi," he responded quietly. "Before Daddy and I started dating …"

"She looks like she's in love with you."

"We were in love for a really long time. But it didn't work out."

"Why?"

"Oh Musetta … it's complicated."

Jennifer sat quietly before pointing at the images again. "And who's that?" she inquired. It was a shot of someone in zebra-print leggings, a red jacket with white Malibu fur along the bottom, and short black hair.

"That's Aunt Angel … and a sweeter person never lived. God, she was amazing."

More images flashed on the wall.

"There's Benny, stupid bastard … Uncle Collins and Aunt Angel … there's Aunt Maureen, drunk as always that New Year's Eve … Aunt Joanne and Daddy …"

"How old were you in this film Dad?"

Roger pondered this for a moment. "Well, if I remember correctly, Daddy was 22 or 23 … so I would've been 24 or 25."

"You look really happy. Did you love Daddy then?"

"I was happy," Roger responded. "It was a great year. But I didn't love Mark the way I do now … it was more of a friendship type love …"

"Oh. And Dad, why is Aunt Maureen in a cat suit?"

His brilliant green eyes glanced at the screen. "Oh … that was for New Year's. We all dressed up … well, correction: Uncle Collins, Aunt Maureen, and Aunt Angel dressed up."

The shots flew by faster and faster, finally ending with a shot of Angel reaching to the heavens.

"I liked it."

"It's good, isn't it?" Roger smiled. "It tells the story of all of us … you get a chance to see Aunt Angel, and Aunt Mimi and Daddy … and hopefully, you'll use it to remember me when I'm gone."

"You're not going to die soon Dad, right?"

"I really don't know Musetta," he admitted. "This … this disease is really unpredictable. But I promise you that … when it's my time …" He cleared his throat. "We can worry about this later honey," he finally said. "I don't want you to be thinking of all the bad times to come. I want you to be happy. I know it's harder now that Daddy isn't here."

She nodded.

He tousled her hair. "Well doll, I need to get to work. If you need me, just call me at the studio, okay?"

"Yes Dad. Um … Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can I watch a few more of Daddy's films? I just kind of … want to be alone with his work for a while."

"That would be fine," Roger said softly. He grabbed his guitar, kissed her on the forehead, and swept out the door.

Jennifer sat quietly for a minute, looking at the piles of film. So this was her father's passion. She eyed all the labels, so carefully handwritten. Her Daddy's handwriting.

A tear slid down her cheek and she hurriedly wiped it away so she wouldn't blur any of the ink on the labels. Then, gently, she began sorting through the reels one at a time. She smiled as she read the titles: "Commitment Ceremony," "Buzzline," "Random Shit," "Collins's new place," "Lunch Time!" "My Confessions …"

She paused. Her Daddy's confessions? What would her Daddy need to confess? After all, Aunt Joanne had always said Daddy was a saint, someone who did for others, but never gave a thought to pleasing himself.

Maybe it was because Daddy was the one to listen to everyone's problems. She knew Daddy was the patient adviser, never turning anyone down who needed a sympathetic ear. She recalled all the times she had run into Daddy's arms, sobbing because someone had laughed at her, or she had made a mistake in class in front of everyone. He would calm her down and listen to her whine, cry, and laugh. And, like always, he'd help her find a solution to her problem.

Uncle Collins would always joke that Daddy was unconsciously channeling Aunt Angel's spirit, but her Daddy would simply smile and say, "Angel was one of a kind." Whether it was Aunt Maureen needing help with a protest, or Uncle Collins mumbling about his students, her Daddy would listen to all their problems.

So what could possibly be on the reel?

She carefully put the reel on the projector and started the film. The wall remained blank for a moment, before being replaced with Mark staring boldly at the camera, his blue eyes trained directly on her.

"Hi, my name is Mark Cohen-Davis and I'm the survivor."

A/N: Ah yes, a cliffhanger. Aren't you just dying to see what's on that confession reel? Please review!


	10. Chapter 9

_Hey everyone! Sorry it took me so long to update! My dog had surgery, so it's been really touch and go for a while with him. Thankfully, he's healing nicely! Well, I truly hope you enjoy this update. It's more of a Mark- monologue, and I hope it isn't too boring. Please enjoy this update, and as always, I appreciate any reviews! _

Chapter 9

"Hi, my name is Mark Cohen-Davis and I'm the survivor."

Jennifer stared at the video of her father, clearly fascinated. Her father rarely ever filmed himself – if anything, he was only caught on camera when Dad took the camera away – and now, she saw a different side to her Daddy. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she was seeing him in a different light. His eyes were piercing and seemed to see her soul. Her took a deep breath, then sighed.

"You see, Collins is the mentor. He's the oldest, so he's like the father figure. He guides us a lot of times when we need it. If we're confused, he uses his blunt manner and comical sense of humor to figure out a solution. And the way he is with Roger … I think he's trying to get him to live more of his life. Collins knows what this disease can, and eventually will, do.

"Maureen's the diva. Everything's about her. We're always struggling to help Maureen and sometimes whatever we do backfires and we end up flat on our asses. But she's … well, I still think she's a wonderful person. There are days I hate her for being the way she is, and then there are days when I wish that we were still as close as we were way back when.

"Joanne's the only sane one here. Isn't that obvious? I mean, she works as a _lawyer_. She's away from all the art … even though she's amazing at the tango. And she isn't pompous like Benny is. She's sensible for the most part too … we can always go to her when we need some serious legal advice.

"Mimi is … was … the beauty. She had the curly hair, the big brown eyes, the perfect figure … there was a reason she worked at Cat Scratch. She was so pretty and fun and joyful. All of us were so hopeful that she was going to beat this addiction. But she ran off shortly after March 1990. She'd been in rehab … and one day, she just disappeared. No one knows where she is right now. Roger was so distraught … we all were. It felt as though another one of our family had just died … it brought back really painful memories of Angel and how she tried to hold us together.

Angel was the angel. Her name fit her perfectly. She was the one who cared the most about all of us sticking together through all the good and bad times. And she got Roger to go out and experience life. She proved that HIV and AIDS … they're no reason to stop living your life. She did that with Roger, with the people at Life Support, and with me. I stopped hiding behind the camera. I started living life on the other side of the camera lens. She has no idea how much we all miss her … especially Collins.

"Roger is the sex god. I mean, he's the one with the rock star career. He's the one girls throw their panties at. And he's the one everyone loves in a sexual way it seems like. I remember him telling me that he used to be such a flirt, even in elementary school. All the girls would just flock to him. And he's also my best friend. My partner. My everything. And it's not just because he's gorgeous. It's because he's such a sweet caring person. However, you'd think he was the youngest because he always acts like he's the baby of our family. We all baby Roger. We all take care of him.

"I'm just here to record life and pick up the pieces when someone falls. I'm only the living reminder of my friends when they're gone. I will be the one to carry on the Bohemian legacy in their names. Roger. Mimi. Collins. Angel. They say that Joanne and Maureen will be able to help me, but I know that Maureen won't be true to it. She won't remember everything the way I will. And after a while, Joanne might forget this as she gets caught up in her legal cases. So it'll be my job. My purpose in life.

"Do I want this job? Not really. I don't want to be the living one. I don't want to be abandoned. We all realize it's a matter of time though before it happens. Collins is getting sicker and we don't know when AIDS will finally take him. Mimi … well, I honestly think the next time we'll hear from Mimi, it'll be about her funeral. No one says it, but we all think it. We all believe that Mimi couldn't overcome that addiction and fell back into her string of dead ends."

Mark wiped his eyes quickly, took a deep, shaking breath, and continued.

"When Angel died, I was the pacifist. I comforted everyone as they sobbed uncontrollably at the loss of our dearest friend. I was there for Collins, who was mourning for his lost love. I broke up skirmishes that arose and tore people apart. I was there for everyone when they needed it, but it seems they forgot that … I too have feelings. I was so broken up when Angel died … one of the only ones who understood me was gone. It's true; I really believe that Angel understood my work.

"When Collins dies, I will be the silent mourner. I won't be like Maureen and Joanne, crying hysterically for our anarchist. I won't be like Roger, who will probably hole up in his room with his guitar and won't come out for a week. So I'll be there comforting the girls and I'll be the one trying to coax Roger out of his room, because we all know Collins wouldn't want that. He has big dreams for Roger and his music.

"And when we hear about Mimi, I'll be the pillar. I'll be the one Roger can lean on and hold onto. I won't be able to mourn the way I should because Roger would probably get even more upset if he saw me cry. I haven't cried yet. I never cried at Angel's funeral. I never cried at her gravesite. I never cried when I found out about Roger using heroin, just like April, to steel away the pain. I never cried when I found out that he contracted HIV because of his drug use. And I never cried when he lost control during withdrawal.

"Don't you see a pattern? I'll never be able to cry. I'll never be able to be the vulnerable one. That's all I want, and I don't think my friends see that. I'm human. I have emotions. I don't always want to be the strong one. I'm sick of it."

Jennifer paused the tape. What had Daddy said? About Dad? She rewound the film and played it back.

"I never cried when I found out about Roger using heroin …"

She felt her jaw drop. Now she knew why her Dad had HIV. He had done drugs. The very things he had told her never to use, he had done. She felt her stomach twist. She didn't know how she felt about that. Obviously, her dad had paid a price, but he had told her never to use drugs. Hadn't he gotten the same warning from her grandparents? Hadn't they cared? And why would her father do drugs if he knew the negative effects?

Slowly, she turned her attention back to the film, where Mark was still narrating.

"I worry about Roger," he continued. "I worry about him a lot … especially now. See, now that we're committed, both of us discussed having kids. Actually, I take it back. I was the one discussing kids. When we talked about it, we realized that we didn't want to have someone be a surrogate mother. Like, oh God, if Maureen wanted to do it. It would be wonderful, and a hell of a lot easier, but then we'd have a kid that was part Maureen and part one of us. We wanted a child that was … well, the easiest way for me to describe it is this: I know that Roger is going to die eventually. I know I'll outlive him, and with the grace of God, our child would live a long happy life. I wanted a living reminder of Roger. And in the off chance that something would happen to me, Rog would have a reminder of me. See what I'm saying? A child would stand, not only as a symbol of our love, but a symbol of both of us.

"It was a radical idea, really, but somehow it happened. I tried carrying the baby at first because there was less of a risk of the child having AIDS. But four months into it, I started to hemorrhage and I lost the baby. So I tried again, and two months later, the same thing, except I almost died in the process. Roger told me that the doctors were so concerned about me losing so much blood and everything. Being the stubborn bastard Roger is, he demanded that he get a shot to carry our kid. And right now, it's okay. I mean, we have four months before this baby is born. We're ready for this. We think we'll be moderately decent parents … once we cut down the swearing, and the drinking, and the endless nights we spend away from this place.

"But I'm worried because Roger is constantly sick now. I mean, it's like living through withdrawal times five, except not as violent. He's always exhausted and incredibly weak and nauseous and … you can tell it's starting to affect him. It's getting too hard for him to survive with AIDS and carry our child … which, we just found out, is a girl." A small smile played on his lips. "We're having a girl. She's going to be a Daddy's girl."

"I just wonder if … especially because Roger is getting so sick and worn out … if we made a mistake …"

Jennifer angrily stopped the film, cutting off Mark's last sentence, and stalked off to her bedroom. Obviously, her Daddy thought she was a mistake. She didn't deserve to be living. And hadn't he just said that she was the reason Dad was so ill?

She no longer missed her Daddy.

_A/N: Please review! Any comments are welcomed!_


	11. Chapter 10

_Hey everyone! Okay, sorry for the long breaks between updates. As always, I own nothing except the plot line. Also, I'm desperately searching for someone who is a good song writer. I need a song for later in the story that Roger wrote, so if you're interested, put it in your comments noteand I'll personal-message you on what I'm looking for. I'll select which song I like best and put it in my story. Of course, you will be credited. Thank you again and please enjoy the chapter!_

Chapter 10

"Jennifer? Sweetie, I'm home!"

Roger frowned slightly as he walked into the room. Mark's reels of film were still scattered haphazardly on the tables and floor and he knew Jennifer would never leave such a mess. _Just like Mark_, he thought painfully. _He always had a specific spot for everything. He was the reason we didn't have to swim through piles of crap to get to each room_.

"Jen darling?"

"I'm in my room," a flat voice replied.

Setting his guitar down near the couch, Roger went into his daughter's room to find her lying on the bed, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. Gingerly, he sat down next to her and stroked her hair. "You okay sweetie?"

"I'm fine," she snapped.

Slightly taken aback, Roger asked, "What's wrong Jennifer?"

"Nothing. Just leave me the hell alone!"

"You lady, do not use that tone with me," he replied sternly. "Now what's going on?"

"Daddy never wanted me. He said I was a mistake. I hate him!" she screamed.

"Jennifer Lynn Cohen-Davis, I never want to hear you say that ever again," Roger said, raising his voice slightly. "Now, I want to hear what brought this outburst on. Sit up and let's hear your explanation."

Obediently, she sat up, her eyes burning with rage. "Daddy made a video saying I was a mistake and I never should've been born. And now I hate him and nothing you say will ever change it because that was one of Daddy's confessions that he never wanted me to find! It's the truth! I hate him!"

"Jennifer," Roger said, struggling to control his voice, "I don't know what exactly he said, but you were the best thing that ever happened to us. Both of us. We never regretted having you." He tried to pull her into a hug, but she slapped his hands away.

"And I know about you and how you got HIV and that you used to do drugs!" Jennifer carried on hysterically. "After all those warning you gave me … you went ahead and did it!"

"Why do you think I gave you those warnings?" he demanded. "Did you really think I gave you those warnings just for fun? Jen, I don't want you to have the life I have. I don't want you taking AZT every damn day of your life. I don't want you to have to struggle through withdrawal like I did. I want you to have a better life than I had." He again tried to give her a hug, but she stubbornly slapped his hands away.

Without a second thought, Roger grabbed her wrists in a firm hold. She struggled viciously against him as she tried to wrench her hands from his grasp. But he held on. Maybe if he did, he'd be able to keep his daughter a little girl forever. Keep her away from harm and all the evils he had to encounter.

"Jen, please stop thrashing," Roger begged. "Let's just talk for a little bit."

"I'm right! I know I am!" she screamed as she fought against him. "I heard Daddy say it! I know it's true!"

"Please darling, you don't know the entire story."

She stopped struggling and fell limply against her pillows. "Fine," she said.

He released her wrists. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Now, what exactly did Daddy say?"

"That he thought I was a mistake," she retorted angrily. "That having me was a huge mistake! And I always thought Daddy was the one who wanted me the most, but I was wrong. He never loved me."

Roger's forehead wrinkled. "Honey, your father loved you very much. You were never a mistake, and I highly doubt Mark would've said anything like that. Are you sure that's what he said?"

"I'm positive." It was silent. "Dad?"

"Mmhmm?"

"What story? You said I didn't know the entire story. Well, what is it?"

Roger closed his eyes briefly. "I can't believe I'm telling you this now," he began. "But it's the only way I can give you an explanation. I was actually going to wait until you were a little older, but since you already know part of it …"

"When I was around 20 or so, right before I started getting pretty famous, I used to do gigs at the local bars. We'd sell out performances; it was mostly college-age students back then, but we were making money and it was keeping me off the streets. There were always gorgeous young women in there, but one night, I made eye contact with a particular one. She had this reddish hair and these amazing eyes; they were just _piercing_ and they seemed to be looking directly into your soul. We started talking after the performance … her name was April."

"Did you go out?"

"Yep. But when I was started dating her, I didn't know that she was addicted to drugs … heroin, to be specific. Every day, she'd shoot up just to keep herself at a constant high. Finally, she dared me to try it. It's a mistake I regret making every day I'm alive. But I tried it."

"That's why Daddy talked about you getting addicted too."

"That's right. I was addicted to it. I became almost crazed. I needed to have the drugs every night to keep me happy. And then one night, it all changed. Daddy and I were returning home from something and we found April in the bathroom. She had cut her wrists. There was a note next to her and it said 'We have AIDS.'"

"Were you scared?" Jennifer asked, sitting up.

Roger nodded.

"But what does this have to do with me? I'm confused. And how did you and Daddy end up together?"

"Hold on sweetie. You need the background information. Anyway, April's death was a big turnaround point. I got off the drugs after a long time. Daddy was the one who got me off them … and believe me, that was no easy task. I'd become so dependent on them for so long. I was constantly sick and almost always violent. If Mark were smart, he would've gotten away from the entire situation, but he stayed through it all. And after Aunt Mimi and I broke up, he pulled me through that too."

"Why did you break up?"

"The addiction I had before … Aunt Mimi had it as well, only she couldn't fight it. And after that … I just fell in love with my best friend. Your Daddy." He paused, then sighed deeply. "I never believed all that crap about falling for your best friend. Not until I fell in love with Mark." He shook his head. "Well, getting back to the story … once Daddy and I started dating, we discussed the possibility of kids. He always loved little kids, and I think he was secretly hoping for a piece of me to hang on to. That's one of the reasons you don't have a mother. We wanted you to be a combination of us, not some random woman on the street and one or the other dads. To minimize the risk of AIDS, Daddy tried first. Four months into it, he started throwing up blood. We ended up losing the baby."

"Daddy said in his film that he tried a second time too."

"He did. But he was so anemic that the baby began seriously affecting his health. What exactly happened I don't know … but one night I came home and found a message on the answering machine. I guess Daddy had fainted while filming and someone rushed him to the hospital … either way, we lost the baby and almost lost Daddy in the process. The doctors told us that, if we wanted Mark to see his kids, he couldn't be the one to carry them."

"You weren't supposed to try, were you Dad? Because if Daddy was anemic, well, wouldn't AIDS affect you just as much as the anemia affected Daddy?"

"Smarty pants. I tried because we wanted a living reminder of us. I could also handle it physically, as crazy as it sounds. I could withstand all the pain … not saying Daddy was weak, but he was physically worse off."

"Do you regret it?"

"Never. Jen, you're my daughter. The minute we heard you cry, we fell in love."

"But still … why did Daddy say I was a mistake?"

"Why don't you show me the tape?"

The two walked back to the jumble of film and the projector. Carefully, Jennifer rewound the reel and began to play it.

"I just wonder if … especially because Roger is getting so sick and worn out … if we made a mistake …"

"See?" Jennifer told him.

"Shh," Roger said quietly, motioning to the still-playing film.

"…having Rog do it all. I should've tried harder. I never should've let him do it. I should've been the one to deal with the morning sickness and the fucking swollen ankles and the weirdest cravings …" He smiled. "But we're just excited right now for our baby girl. I'm hoping she's going to grow up surrounded with love. And I'm so damn nervous about being a parent. But this little girl … she's a gift. She's a little miracle."

The screen went black and Jennifer turned to her father with tears in her eyes.

"I stopped the tape before that," she whispered.

Roger gently pulled her into a hug. "Not a day goes by that I don't thank my filmmaker for giving me such a precious daughter," he whispered. "You were the best thing that ever happened to me." He took his thumb and wiped her tears. "Darling, you are a beautiful, intelligent person. You're a survivor. You are going to grow up to be so much stronger than me. And I know you're going to have a much better life."

"I like the one I'm living now." She nuzzled closer to her father. "I love you Dad. And … I'm sorry for saying I hate Daddy. I guess I'm just sad that he isn't here to explain it all to me."

"Me too Musetta, me too."

_How was it? I sincerely apologize if it was really boring. The next couple of chapters will hopefully be better. Please read and review! At this point, I would also like to thank everyone who has named me as a favorite author, has placed "Daddy's Films" as a favorite story, and those who have this story on alert. My eternal gratefulness and thanks. _


	12. Chapter 11

_Hi everyone! I have just returned from a nice long vacation and am here to update you with the latest from Mark, Roger, and Jennifer's story! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I like writing it! This is Part One of Jennifer's birth. I apologize again for the long delay. As always, I own nothing. Oh, and celebrate for 80 reviews! You guys are the best! _

Chapter 11

"Jennifer Lynn Cohen-Davis, June 23, 1992." She studied the reel's label intently. "Hey Dad, what is this?"

Roger looked up from the reels he had been sorting, and a slow smile spread across his face. "It's the film of your birth," he replied. "Would you believe that reel is already 10 years old?"

"May we watch? Please Dad?"

"Sure, why not?" He fitted the reel on the projector and sat down on the floor. Immediately, Jennifer crawled into his lap.

* * *

"Mark, I fucking hate you!"

The filmmaker chuckled softly behind the camera, then proceeded to narrate. "June 23, 1999, 2:37 a.m., Eastern Standard Time. Guess what day it is?"

"The day I refuse to ever sleep with you again?" the musician growled at the man filming.

"Aren't you hilarious Roger. Nope, Roger's in labor. Hopefully today, we'll have a baby girl!" He zoomed in closer to Roger.

"Are you aware you sound like a girl when you squeal like that?" Roger inquired.

Mark smirked. "Whatever. Say hi to the camera Roger!"

The guitar player leaned against the counter and put his head in his hands. "I'm so fucking exhausted," he mumbled. "Please Mark … no camera …"

"Poor guy." Mark set the camera down on the table and went over to his aching musician. "Need a back rub? Or maybe sitting down would be a better option? Taking a shower?"

"Oh fuck," came the reply. "Oh fucking shit …"

"Contraction?" Mark asked sympathetically, putting a hand on his partner's back and lacing the fingers of his other hand with Roger's. "Just breathe baby … nice and easy …"

Roger whimpered through the contraction, then relaxed visibly once the pain had passed.

"Was it bad?"

"What do you think?" He sighed, then softened his voice. "I'm sorry Marky," he apologized. "It does hurt … but think about it … we're going to be parents …" His free hand absently rubbed his slightly swollen abdomen; he hadn't put on much weight with the baby.

"We are," the filmmaker agreed, squeezing Roger's hand. "I love you so much for this … do you know that?"

"I love you too." He pulled Mark closer and pressed his lips against the younger man's, his tongue exploring the contours of Mark's mouth. It was heaven. It made him think back of all the times he and Mark had kissed, each time better than the last … under the stairs of their apartment, in Mark's bedroom, in his bedroom, behind the Life, during another one of Maureen's protest, at the engagement …

"Ouch," he whimpered, reluctantly breaking the kiss. He leaned against Mark, one arm draped around the filmmaker's neck, the other wrapped protectively around his own midsection, his forehead pressed against Mark's. Even though Mark was a good two inches shorter than Roger, the rock star always slouched.

"Another? Maybe we should get to the hospital," Mark ventured timidly.

"No … it's not too bad yet … I don't want to spend any more time in the hospital than I need to … it's not absolutely necessary yet …"

"Rog …"

"Mark, c'mon. I'm not going to sit there for nothing."

"Stubborn bastard," Mark groaned. "Fine. But if you have the baby in here," he said, gesturing to the messy loft, "I will personally strangle you."

"Whatever. You always wanted to be the dominant one anyway." The contraction finished, and Roger made his way over to the sofa and sat down. "Just chill Marky." He awkwardly picked up his guitar and began playing. Music had always been extremely soothing to him.

"Just know that I won't be able to carry you down the stairs like you can with me," Mark told him as he sat down next to Roger. "If you can't walk, we're screwed."

"That's because you're a weak Jewish boy," Roger smiled cheekily.

"Fuck off."

Just then, the music stopped and Roger let out a little gasp. His hands froze on the strings.

"Rog?"

"Contraction," he muttered through gritted teeth, grabbing Mark's hand. He set the guitar down on the ground; the last thing he wanted was to break his precious Fender.

For three hours, the two lounged around the loft, alternating between lying on the bed and leaning against the counter. Finally, Mark suggested the hospital again and Roger relented. The contractions were getting much closer together and lasted a hell of a lot longer. Exhausted, he lay on his side in bed, watching Mark rush around the room.

"Marky, don't worry," he said as calmly as he could. "I'll be fine. Slow down a little, okay?"

"Worried? Who's worried? I'm not worried," Mark rambled as he hastily threw various shirts and pants into a bag. "I'm just fine … and you? I mean, why wouldn't I be fine? Are you ready? Let's go."

Ten minutes and a quick taxi ride later, Roger was checked into a room as Mark attempted to call their friends. His efforts were in vain; none of them picked up the phone.

"Maureen? Joanne? It's Mark. Hey you guys, we're at the hospital. Just get here when you get this message … by that time, we'll have another Bohemian in the group!"

"Collins? It's Mark. Wait, why am I calling you? You're probably teaching. Anyway, we're at the hospital, so if you want to come meet our daughter, get your ass over here!"

He hung up the phone and picked up his camera again. If their friends were going to miss this amazing event, he'd better record all of it so they could watch it.

"5:45 a.m., Eastern Standard Time," he stated. "Finally got Roger to the hospital …"

"Mark, put down that camera before I make you eat it," Roger snarled in the midst of a contraction as he gripped the sides of the bed in a death hold.

"Touchy touchy," Mark teased, going over to his musician and stroking the sweaty blond locks. "Sorry babe. Feeling any better?"

"No," came the grumpy response. "These hurt like hell and the doctors say it's going to be a while."

"Poor guy." He slid onto the bed and put a comforting hand on Roger's protruding stomach. "Poor little girl too … she's been stuck hearing Musetta's Waltz for nine months. I'm sure she's just as uncomfortable as you are."

"Funny." The guitar player shifted in bed and sighed. "God, my fucking back hurts."

"Get on your side," Mark offered. "I'll rub your back for you."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Roger asked as Mark's fingers rubbed his aching back.

"I don't know. Maybe you put up with my filming enough." He smiled at Roger. "You know, I love you so much for doing this. Without you … this wouldn't be happening."

"You'd better love me."

A doctor entered the room just then. "Hi," she greeted them with a pleasant smile. "My name is Dr. Boris and I'll be assisting you two. How are you doing?"

"I'm Mark," the filmmaker introduced himself. "And this is Roger."

"How are you doing?" the doctor repeated, a small smile playing on her lips.

"How do you think?"

"Roger!" Mark scolded. "Be civil!"

"Oh, don't worry about it," she laughed sweetly. "Believe me, that's not the worse thing someone has said to me. It's normal. Don't worry; he'll be back to himself once this is all over."

"Can you possibly give him something to … er, speed this up?" Mark asked timidly as though afraid of his own suggestion.

"You mean, induce?" she supplied. "Well, unfortunately, Pitocin interferes with AIDS medications. I'm afraid, Roger, that you're going to need to wait it out. The nurse said she just checked you and that you have a bit of time, so relax a little. If you need anything, just page me."

"Do you know how long?" Roger asked.

"I honestly don't. This is something that is totally subjective. It could take a few more minutes; it could take hours. Just be patient."

Something Roger wasn't good at.

_What do you think? Please review! I appreciate any comments! And I am still looking for a song writer! _


	13. Chapter 12

_Hi everyone! I was recently alerted to a slight grammatical error in my story by **rent is my anti drug **__Jennifer finds a reel labeled June 23, 1992, but when Mark is narrating, he says it's 1999. It's supposed to say 1992. If the play / movie ends in 1990, I was thinking the two had a year of courtship and then had Jennifer a little bit later. I'm sorry if this confused anyone (heck, it confuses me!) I apologize for any grammar errors. I hope you enjoy the story!_

Chapter 12

"Roger, I'm afraid we're going to have to perform a caesarean section," Dr. Boris said gently, after another four hours. "This has been going on for a while and I'm worried about you getting through this."

Roger's eyes cracked open weakly. He was soaked in sweat and was exhausted both physically and emotionally. "Why?" he asked in a tired voice.

The doctor sat down next to the musician's bed. "You have a very limited amount of strength," she explained. "This is already taxing your body to the extreme. Would you rather spend the rest of your energy on labor or surviving to see your baby?"

Mark had never heard someone speak in such a candid tone, and to be frank, it frightened him a little. But he knew she was probably right; after all, she was the one with the medical degree. However, something still nagged at his mind.

"Isn't … isn't a c-section really high risk?" he ventured. "I mean … not only with blood and everything …"

"In my opinion, a natural birth would be much worse. It's using up a lot of his strength, and he'll need it to recover."

"Mark? Contraction …" Roger whimpered.

The filmmaker immediately resumed his post next to Roger's bed, one hand in his lover's and the other resting on the sweat-soaked locks. The brilliant green eyes closed as a choked sob escaped the parched lips. He watched, helpless, as his partner writhed in pain and agony, all for the sake of their child.

Mark cast another scared look at Roger before turning back to the doctor.

"Let's do the surgery."

* * *

"It's okay for me to film this, right?" 

The nurse smiled. "Oh sure," she assured him. "Everyone does it. It's a nice memory, you know?"

Mark nodded. "Very true." _A nice memory to have when my fantasy life falls apart_, he reminded himself. _One day, I'll be watching this, hopefully with my daughter, just to see Roger. One day …_ He gripped the camera as tightly as he could with the latex gloves on. This was his lifeline, the tool that would connect him to others, to his family, to Roger. They would all be there on film, waiting for him whenever he needed them.

The nurse added a cap to Mark's head in addition to the scrubs he was already donning. "We need you to wear this to prevent contamination of the area," she explained.

He felt ridiculous. A vision in blue, like a blueberry.

"Okay," Dr. Boris said, squatting down near Roger's head. "Let me explain this to both of you. There's a screen blocking your view, Roger, as a sanitary precaution. We want to keep this area as sterile as possible. Now, you'll be awake the entire time, but you shouldn't feel any pain. The anesthetic should take care of that. We'll make one long incision across the bottom part of your abdomen so we can deliver your baby. After that, we'll stitch you up, and barring any complications, you'll be good to go." She looked up at Mark. "Should anything happen," she said gently, "we ask that you leave the room immediately. I know it's hard, but it will give us more room to work more efficiently."

"Okay."

"Then let's start. I'm sure the two of you are very anxious to meet your daughter."

"I've been ready for nine months," Roger agreed.

The doctor laughed. "Ready?"

Mark kept the camera trained on the sophisticated young woman as she skillfully made a long incision with the scalpel across Roger's mid-section. And suddenly, there was a gush of blood and Dr. Boris was holding a screaming, squirming, blood-covered baby in her arms.

"It's a girl," she confirmed to the two men as nurses swarmed around the infant, bundling her in blankets, taking her temperature, and cooing over the little miracle. The doctor looked at Mark, who was standing, almost shell-shocked, gazing at their baby. "Well Daddy, don't you want to meet your little girl?"

"Wha-? Oh!" He shoved his precious camera into a nurse's arms, then waited impatiently as Dr. Boris transferred the baby into his arms. He cradled her carefully against him and she nuzzled against him as though seeking comfort.

"Hi sweetie," he murmured as the baby squinted at him with her piercing blue eyes, so much like his own. Her hair was a shade darker than his; obviously, she was going to inherit Roger's dirty blond locks. But her eyes and nose were from the Cohen side of the family. "Hi … I'm your Daddy, and you know what? You are the most beautiful little miracle I have ever seen. I love you so much, you know that?"

"Don't forget the incubator," a weary voice spoke up.

Mark knelt down near his partner and pulled back the blanket, which was obstructing Roger's view. "Meet your daughter," Mark told him softly.

"Hey little one," the guitar player said. "I'm your Dad …" A single tear fell from Roger's eyes. "And I love you so much … what a little cutie … you look just like your Daddy, so I know you'll be the prettiest daughter ever."

Mark flushed slightly at this unexpected remark and leaned over to kiss Roger's forehead. "I love you," he whispered. "And I am forever indebted to you for giving me my daughter."

"Just don't ask for another one anytime soon."

"So, do we have a name?" the doctor asked.

"Oh … yeah," Roger said. After agonizing over various baby name books for nearly nine months, the two had settled on a name just days earlier. Instead of incorporating their friends' names into her, they wanted their little Bohemian to start afresh, blaze her own trail, and create a name for herself. They didn't want her to be overshadowed by someone, and though giving her Angel's name would be a way of remembering their favorite person, Mark declared that there would never be another Angel; she was unique, and her name was her own. In the end, Roger had chosen his favorite first name, while Mark chose the middle one.

Mark smiled. "Her name," he said, "is Jennifer Lynn Cohen-Davis."

_A/N: Thank you so much to MoreLikeFiction, RachaelMalfoy, zorabet, Ragazzabella, Rent is my anti drug, Laurel Ducky, and Querida44 for the comments! Please follow their example: read and review!_


	14. Chapter 13

_OMG, I have hit 96 reviews! Four more and I have hit my dream of 100! I'm so excited! Here's the next story from Roger. It's a continuation of the other two chapters. Apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors. As always, thank you for reading and please review!_

Chapter 13

"Where is she? Where is she?" Maureen squealed impatiently as she bounced around the elevator. "I can't wait to see her … she's going to be so adorable!"

"Honey, we're not even on the right floor," Joanne pointed out.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so excited!" she continued. "I mean … I'm practically an aunt! And I'm going to be the best role model every for my niece. I'll teacher her all the important things in life … hey, think Roger and Mark will let me give her the sex talk?"

"If they're smart, no," Joanne grinned. "Besides, I don't think they'll appreciate you teaching their daughter how to get drunk and dress in rubber."

Collins snorted. "You mean, she isn't going to teach the kid how to moo?"

Maureen stopped jumping around and fixed Collins with a glare. "And just what will you teach her, Mr. Professor at NYU?" she demanded.

"That Stoli is the only brand of liquor worth buying," he said. "That Cap'n Crunch is the best cereal ever. And about Angel." He paused. "You know, Angel would've loved this little baby."

Before the trio could start crying and reminiscing of Angel, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They rushed into the hallway and headed towards the nurse's station.

"Where's Roger Cohen-Davis?" Joanne asked breathlessly when they reached the desk.

The nurse glanced at the company. Joanne was wearing her usual suspenders and button down striped shirt, in addition to a pair of heels. Collins was in a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and tennis shoes. Maureen, however, was wearing tight leather pants, white boots that reached her knees, and a tiny white tube top. There were purple cow earrings dangling from her ears.

"He's in room … room 225," the nurse said slowly. "Just down the hall and take a right. However, I don't think he'll be awake … he's had a rough morning." Her eyes narrowed even more. "You aren't, by any chance, the paparazzi or anything, are you?"

"Paparazzi? Roger's that famous?" Maureen trilled. "If anything, I'd be the one with the cameras following me. I'm Maureen Johnson … well, Johnson-Jefferson now, but I'm famous for …"

"Thank you," Joanne cut her off. "We just want to check on his partner." Grabbing Maureen firmly by the arm, she steered her down the corridor.

Once they were out of the nurse's vision, the three bolted towards Roger's room, flying past dinner trays and other sick residents. They whizzed past the nursery and dashed up the next hallway. It had always been a tradition for them to race down the halls; they used to have relays throughout the entire building until Benny caught them.

Maureen reached Roger's room and first and skidded inside. "Hi you …" she began loudly, before falling silent. Behind her, Collins and Joanne peered over her shoulders, searching the reason of her abrupt halt.

Roger lay in bed, his skin as white as the sheets, eyes closed. An IV was in his wrist and steadily dripping fluid into him. Next to Roger, Mark sat dozing in an armchair, one hand in the isolette that held his daughter. At the sound of Maureen's entrance, the baby started squalling fearfully. Immediately, Mark jerked awake and lifted the baby into his arms. Only then did he spot his friends.

"Hey guys," he said quietly, standing up and walking over to greet them.

"Is that …? Is she …?" Maureen asked excitedly, gesturing to the bundle in Mark's arms.

"This is my daughter you guys," Mark announced proudly. "Jennifer Lynn Cohen-Davis." He dropped a kiss on the now peaceful baby's forehead. "She's about seven pounds, six ounces, 20 inches long. She'll be a tall one, just like Rog."

"She's so pretty," Joanne cooed. "She looks just like you Mark. Her entire face is yours in miniature."

"Do you guys want to hold her?" he offered.

"Really?" Maureen squealed. "Oh please Marky, let me hold her first!"

"Let her godfather hold her," Mark grinned at Collins as he handed the baby to him.

"Me?" Collins asked.

"You," Mark confirmed. "Collins, you saved our asses so many times … you deserve a special gift. We wanted someone to be able to teach her all the finer points in life. Like how to rewire an ATM machine."

"Once she's 17," Collins joked. "You guys … thanks."

A soft groan came from the bed, causing everyone's attention to shift to the tired musician.

"Joanne, Maureen, Thomas, you made it," he smiled wearily.

"Hey Rog," Joanne replied, kissing his forehead. "How are you?"

"Tired. Sore. Other than that, I'm just fantastic."

"I just told them who her godfather is," Mark informed him. "I know you wanted to see it, but you've had a rough day."

Roger laughed. "Whatever. Anyway, Thomas, we thought you'd be the best godfather ever for her."

The anarchist beamed proudly and turned his focus back on the little squirming baby in his arms.

"And her godmother?" Maureen hinted.

"Joanne," Roger replied. "Someone with a little sanity left in her."

Maureen pouted unhappily. Next to her, her partner put her hand on the diva's shoulder.

"Don't worry honey," the lawyer assured her. "I'm sure in no time you'll be her favorite aunt."

"Teach her how to hold a protest," Collins suggested, giving the baby to Joanne.

"Excuse me," a nurse interrupted. "I'm afraid visiting hours are over, and I unfortunately need to take the little one back to the nursery."

"But I didn't get to hold her," Maureen whined.

"We'll be back tomorrow," Collins told her.

Joanne replaced the baby in the isolette and the nurse wheeled it down the hall. Everyone said their good-byes and left, leaving Roger and Mark alone in their room.

"I miss her already," Mark confessed. "Good thing I can stay here though. I can wander out at night and look at her."

"And leave me?" Roger mumbled, a vague smile playing on his lips.

The filmmaker reached out to stroke the other man's wavy hair. "Hey Rog?"

"What?"

"I love you."

"I love you too Marky … hey, Mark?"

"Yeah?"

Roger was silent for a minute. Then, he said, "You got tested … right?"

"I'm fine Rog."

All lethargy gone, Roger sat up abruptly, causing him to wince as he put pressure on his stitches. His eyes were blazing. "Answer the fucking question Mark."

"What the fuck Roger? Of course I did … don't be such a moron!"

The rock star relaxed visibly. "Just checking."

"You didn't need to jump down my throat," Mark snapped irritably.

The other coughed weakly, then sighed. "I'm only looking out for you … for Jen," he responded. "If you hadn't gotten tested … Jesus Mark, I don't want her to be orphaned!"

"She won't be! Roger, what the fuck is wrong with you? She has you and me. She'll always have one of us there for her."

"She has me for a limited amount of time. I'll be gone before I see her get married … have her own kids … you get to see that Mark. I don't want you to have to miss it as well."

"Rog, can we not talk about this at the moment?" Mark sighed, running a hand through his own honey-colored locks. "Let's not talk about this now."

"But I want to," Roger said childishly.

"I don't want to talk about you dying!" Mark replied. "It's the happiest day of our lives right now. We have a daughter. Please, let's not discuss the heavy shit now."

"Fine." He coughed again.

"You okay?" Mark asked, concern replacing the anger in his voice.

"Fucking fantastic. Just go away Mark."

"Fuck you."

"Don't you dare."

Mark closed his eyes briefly before gently shoving Roger over to the other side of the bed.

"What the hell?" he squawked.

Without responding, Mark curled up next to Roger in the little space he had just created and wrapped an arm around the other's torso, his head on Roger's shoulder.

"What's going on?" the filmmaker whispered. "Why are you like this?"

A deep sigh escaped Roger. "I don't want anything to happen to our daughter," he replied, a tear coursing down his cheek. "But I'm not going to be there to protect her later."

"You don't know that."

"Mark, I've been HIV positive for how long? Sooner or later, I'll join Angel." He coughed. "Just … don't forget me. Don't let Jen forget me. Use each other to remember me. Can you do that?"

Mark nodded. "I'll never forget."

_Please review! Any comments are appreciated. Thank you to the eight people who reviewed my last chapter. I am indebted to you all! _


	15. Chapter 14

_Hey everyone! I'm back! I apologize for the long break between updates. Everything has been crazy!! Well, here's the next piece of "Daddy's Films." I hope you enjoy reading it as much as you did the first time you clicked on this story! Thank you to all my loyal readers and an especial thank you to InViewOfTheLens for being so supportive. _

Chapter 14

"You knew then, didn't you?"

Roger looked at his daughter, slightly confused. "Knew what?"

"That you were sick … your first OI, right?"

He nodded. "I had a suspicion for a while after you were born, but I didn't want to give up those first few days with you. Every day it was something new … I didn't want to miss any of it. I kept putting off going to the hospital for a long time. I think it was two weeks after you were born that I ended up back in the ICU." He smiled vaguely. "I remember when we first brought you home."

"Really?" she asked eagerly. "Oh please Dad, please tell me!"

* * *

"Welcome home Jennifer," Roger told his dozing daughter as they entered their home. 

"And welcome home Rog," Mark spoke up behind them. "It's so good to have both of you home where you belong."

"And nice of Joanne to drive us," Roger murmured appreciatively as he eased himself into a chair. "God, I'm exhausted." Against his chest, the baby made a small sound and stretched a little before nuzzling closer to Roger.

"That's normal," Mark replied. "You just went through a lot." He walked over to the answering machine and hit the Play button before beginning to unwind his scarf from his neck.

_"Hey bitches, it's Collins. How are you guys? Keep tomorrow night clear; we're celebrating!"_

_"Hey Mark and Roger, it's Maureen. Listen, I just found the cutest little outfit ever for Jennifer. When can I next see her?"_

"Watch, it'll be a cow suit," Mark commented darkly before turning back to Roger and the baby. "Or a miniature rubber cat suit …"

"Mmm," Roger replied, his eyes closed.

Mark examined him skeptically. "You okay Rog? You want me to take Jennifer?"

Roger opened his eyes and glanced down at his sleeping daughter. "No, she's fine."

Mark pretended to pout. "C'mon Roger, you've had her all day. It's my turn. I'm her Daddy. Hand her over."

Reluctantly, Roger gave up the baby to the filmmaker, who immediately began cooing over the slumbering infant.

"Look at you, ma jolie fille … so pretty …"

His voice roused her slightly, and she opened her eyes to stare quizzically at him.

"Such blue eyes … yes, like sapphires …"

"Hey Mark?"

The blond turned his attention back to his companion. "Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Mark grinned cheekily. "I'll go put her to bed … she looks tired, and so do you."

The musician heaved himself up from the chair. "I'll come with you."

"There's no need Roger … I'm perfectly capable …"

"Mark, just let me," Roger begged before coughing a little.

"Rog? You okay?" the filmmaker asked, concern radiating from his sky blue eyes. "You sound like you're coming down with something."

"It's nothing."

Mark studied him before sighing. "Okay Rog, I believe you," he relented. "I trust you'll take care of yourself … if not for my sake, then Jennifer's."

"Don't treat me like a child," Roger argued in a low voice.

"Then don't act like one," Mark snapped back.

It was silent, except for the occasional cough from Roger, as he placed Jennifer in her crib and pulled a blanket over her little body. With infinitely gentle movements, he kissed her forehead and stroked the light brown hair. Then, he started back downstairs, only to be stopped by someone's hand on his shoulder. Tentatively, he turned around to face his lover, whose eyes were shining brightly.

"I'm sorry Mark."

Mark closed his eyes briefly, calming down his racing heartbeat. "Rog, I know you are. I'm sorry too for snapping."

The musician leaned in then, his lips pressing softly against the other man's. He felt Mark's body relax in his arms as their lips melded together perfectly. He allowed his tongue to rove around inside the filmmaker's mouth, feeling the contours within. Mark let out a little moan of pleasure.

"Oh Mark," Roger breathed heavily. "My Marky … God, I love you …" He pressed himself closer to Mark's thin body and began placing kisses on his lover's neck and collarbone.

"Roger," Mark managed to say around the other's tongue, "I love you too, but the baby …"

"Is fine," he replied, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on Mark's shirt. He quickly shed his own T-shirt and moved even closer. Caught off balance, Mark tripped on a stair, falling against the wall in the process.

"Waaaaaaah!" came the tiny protest.

Mark tore himself away. "I got it."

"No," Roger said firmly. "She's _my _daughter too. I'll take care of her."

"Rog … you're tired. Go to bed."

"Mark, you have your entire life to take care of her. Let me have the satisfaction of guarding her now."

Speechless, the filmmaker allowed Roger to retreat back into his daughter's room. The baby was sobbing, scrunching her legs up to her chest, her arms flailing.

"Hey darling," Roger said soothingly, picking his wailing daughter. "What's wrong with my little girl, huh?" He began walking around the room with her in an attempt to ease her cries. "Poor girl … I bet it was your Daddy who scared you. Don't worry; he scares me too."

She continued screaming.

Roger sighed. "Oh little one, I wish I could understand exactly what you needed …"

He leaned against the window, staring out at the brightly lit street below. He heard the cars driving past, horns blaring, people shouting, and the occasional ring from a bicycle bell. Music to his ears.

Music. His consoler. Could it be hers as well?

So softly, he began to sing.

_You are my sunshine,_

_My only sunshine_

_When you're not happy_

_My skies are gray_

_You'll never know, dear_

_How much I love you_

_Please don't take my sunshine away

* * *

_

"I remember you singing that to me a lot," Jennifer recalled. "Especially when I was scared."

"Your Daddy didn't like it," Roger commented ruefully. "He thought it sounded like you were dying and he didn't want that. That's why I had to write you your own personal lullaby, so he would quit his squawking."

"You wrote me one?"

"I sure did. Well, your Daddy helped a little too."

"May I hear it?"

"Of course Musetta. Get my guitar for me, okay?"

She scrambled out of his lap and fetched his guitar. As he began tuning it, she said, "Daddy sounds like he was really strict back then, but that's not how I remember him."

"He wasn't strict," Roger contradicted gently, "just worried. He was actually really easygoing, no wonder you ended up so close to him."

"Even when I was little?"

He twanged a string. "Yep. All Mark had to do was pick you up and you'd stop crying. When you were a little older, he used to pick you up and dance with you. It was one of the only ways to make you smile back then." He twanged another string. "Are you ready? I used to sing this to you almost every night when you were a baby."

_A/N: Comments? Questions? Please click on the little button to submit a review! Thanks again; I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter should have the song!_


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_My darling Jennifer,_

_Here I watch you sleep. _

_My time with you is fleeting_

_So I'll give you a song to keep._

_A song that's strictly for you_

_A tribute to your name_

_A gift from your dad, your biggest fan_

_And your Daddy, just the same._

_Chorus:_

_I watched you smile, I watched you sleep_

_I saw you laugh, I saw you weep_

_The most precious gift that came from love_

_My Jennifer …_

_(End chorus)_

_I see my life through different eyes_

_The world's in a new light_

_Your giggle makes me smile as well_

_You give me the strength to fight_

_And when I'm gone, my darling girl_

_I hope you'll recall this_

_This song, my heart, your lullaby, _

_That I give you with a kiss_

_(Chorus)_

_I wish I could see you grow up tall_

_Choose a young man for your Prom date_

_I wish I could be there at your side_

_When you finally chose your mate_

_I wish I could see you walk down the aisle_

_A bride, all dressed in white,_

_I wish I could be there for you forever_

_Protect you with all my might_

_Whenever you need me my girl …_

_Your guardian angel, I will be_

_Call on me when you get scared_

_I'll be with you when you need …_

_(Chorus)_

_Good-night Jen._

"My lullaby?" Jennifer whispered, her eyes shining with tears.

"Yes my dear, your lullaby," Roger replied. "It was … it was a way for you to remember me. I think I actually recorded it somewhere … something you could listen to if I were to die." He smiled slightly. "Your Daddy was never the best at singing. You get your talent from my side of the family."

She giggled, then looked sober again. "So you wrote that song for me … and then you ended up in the hospital?"

"About three days after I wrote that song, yes, I ended up in the hospital. It wasn't only the emotional strain after having you … it was the physical as well."

"I didn't do this to you?"

"Absolutely not sweetie. My body was already weak. Having you gave me something to truly fight for."

"Besides just Daddy."

"Your Daddy used to tell me to fight, but then he was also the one to tell me that if I ever needed to let go, I should. Trust me darling, there were plenty of times I wanted to just end it all. Right after April. After Aunt Mimi left. But after you were born … I had a reason to stay alive. I had to see you grow up."

"Will you tell me about your first OI and everything? About when I lived with Aunt Maureen and Aunt Joanne?"

"Yes Musetta. Of course. But right now, let's go get something to eat."

_Thank you for all your patience and everything! I know this took a while, but it's been one hectic year! (Check out of my profile!)Please review! I apologize if the song isn't quite as amazing as Roger would make it. Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


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